


Balance: An Avatar/Dragon Age Crossover

by Voicefullofmoney



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Dragon Age Fusion, Basically the Fire Nation is Tevinter now, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Blood Mage Zuko, Canon is my sandbox, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Zuko angst, Dalish Aang, Dragon Age Setting, Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - In Hushed Whispers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ozai is the Black Divine, Ozai's A+ Parenting, Qunari Mercenary Sokka, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, The extremely niche crossover literally no one asked for, graphic description of blood magic, literally the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voicefullofmoney/pseuds/Voicefullofmoney
Summary: What if instead of being the Avatar, Aang had to bring balance between the spirit world and the material plane as the Herald of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition? What if instead of the Firelord, Zuko was the son of the Black Divine? And what if instead of the Southern Water tribe, Sokka was the chief of a mercenary company?This story re-imagines the plot outlines of Dragon Age: Inquisition with characters from Avatar: the Last Airbender. It is the story of the unlikely and somewhat volatile romance that sparks between Sokka and Zuko as they work together with the rest of the Inquisition to help Inquisitor Aang stop Ozai, Black Divine and head of the Venatori, from tearing Thedas apart.Note: This story was written to be accessible to fans of Avatar who have never played any Dragon Age games. The only Dragon Age character included in this story is Corypheus. All other characters are reinterpretations of figures from the Avatar universe or original creations.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), background Aang/Katara (Avatar), minor Sokka/Suki - Relationship
Comments: 48
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are unfamiliar with the Dragon Age Games, a list of definitions for the handful of game-specific words used in this chapter can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25985008)
> 
> A summary of the game's opening setting can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991137)

The sun had just barely risen above the eastern mountains of the Hinterlands and already the camp was a quiet bustle of activity. Sokka glanced down forlornly at the grey gruel that filled the bowl in his hands. 

“You know, Aang. In most cultures, people like to breakfast on foods with, like, _flavor_ and a _pleasant aroma_.” He paused for dramatic effect, crinkling his nose in cartoonish disgust. “There’s nugs everywhere here, and I swear I almost tripped over a ram yesterday. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be hard to get some decent protein in the meal rotation. I’m a growing boy!”

Katara scoffed at that, shooting him an unimpressed glare from where she and Aang were seated near the fire. “Sokka, you’re twenty-seven.”

“Exactly! Prime of my life, fighting fit and getting stronger every day,” he replied, placing his bowl on the ground and standing to his full six-foot-nine, flexing with a grin. He wasn’t the tallest or broadest qunari in the tribe of mercenaries where he and Katara had grown up, but he easily towered over the two elves at the campfire. 

“See, Katara? I need protein. M-E-A-T. No offense Aang, but you just don’t get muscles like these with nuts and berries.” Out of the corner of his eye Sokka thought he saw the requisitions officer looking his way, so he struck a second pose and winked in her direction for good measure. The vitaar he had painted across his chest and down one arm hardened his skin and offered protection against projectiles, but he also knew for a fact that it made his pecs look _amazing._

Aang let out a sigh, but he was smiling as he shook his head. “Well, maybe if you volunteered to wake up first, set up the fire, and do the cooking then you’d get to decide what we eat. I could hear you snoring last night from two tents down and Katara had to hit you with her staff to get you up. Four times.”

“Not fair!” Sokka replied, sitting back down. “I don’t see Suki around and she was the first one to go to bed.” 

“That’s because she was already up and going through her forms when I started on breakfast. I think she’s in her tent meditating or something,” explained Aang. “Regardless, she was geared up and ready to head out before you even opened your eyes.”

Sokka sighed and stuffed some of the gruel-masquerading-as-porridge into his mouth. “As we’ve established, I’m a growing boy. Growing boys need sleep, too,” he grumbled. 

Katara and Aang ignored him, leaving Sokka to finish his “food” in self-imposed indignity as they whispered between themselves. In many ways, the two elves were opposites--Aang pale, gangly, and covered in the religious tattoos of his clan while Katara was dark, graceful, and largely unscarred by her fledgling career as a mercenary. Even their hair contrasted--his completely shaved, hers worn long. She was wearing it loose today, in lieu of her more customary waist-length braid. Only the top was pulled back while the rest hung free. 

As she leaned in to stoke the fire, the dark brown locks swept forward to brush over her shoulders and Aang, who had been watching from where he sat next to her, stilled in the middle of bringing a spoonful of breakfast to his mouth. He stayed that way--mouth open, spoon half-lifted--for a few seconds while Katara continued her work obliviously. Sokka clocked the exact moment that Aang realized he was staring--a sudden blush lit up the elf’s pale face and he jerkily shoved his spoon into his mouth, closing it with an exaggerated snap. Poor kid had it bad. 

If Sokka was honest with himself (and managed to shut down the part of his brain that still saw Katara as his kid sister), he had to admit he was glad that she and Aang had hit it off so well. Apparently Aang had lost his entire clan in the explosion at the Conclave, so seeing him laugh and joke so easily was reassuring. Aang seemed to be a pretty outgoing kid, but he was barely nineteen and, from what Sokka had heard, his clan had been considered remote even by Dalish standards. He clearly had a lot to learn about the wider world, and with the fledgling Inquisition parading him around as the second coming of Andraste, people were going to be looking to him to make lots of really important and complicated decisions. It was a good sign that he seemed so willing to learn from others and ask for help. And as for Katara, now she finally had someone who might actually be able to answer her endless questions about magic and elf stuff. 

“Sokka, are you ready to go?” Katara asked, collecting Aang’s dishes with her own as she stood. “Either finish your breakfast or don’t, but just know that regardless I won’t be putting up with any complaints about you being hungry later.”

Sokka sighed and shoveled up the rest of his porridge before handing off his bowl, Katara watching him with what he semi-affectionately, semi-resentfully thought of as the “mom-eye.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m ready to go. Somebody go retrieve our magnificent fighting nun from her morning meditations.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you, Sokka,” replied Suki, emerging from her tent as if on cue, “I am not, and have never been a nun.” 

Her dramatic ceremonial makeup was impeccable as always, the opaque white base layer that covered her face offering a sharp contrast to the bright red that colored her lips and surrounded her eyes. Deep black lines of precisely drawn kohl traced the upper edge of the red on her eyelids, following her brow line and adding a touch of gravity to her expression as she crossed her arms with a smirk.

Sokka threw up his hands in mock exasperation. “You grew up in a remote island community and spent most of your life sequestered in an all-female monastery. That makes you a nun!” 

“Yes, because all nuns spend years in rigorous physical training in the martial arts, can craft masterwork-level blades, and are able to rattle off the recipes of at least a dozen deadly poisons at the drop of a hat.” Suki let her shoulder nudge Sokka gently as she walked past him, grinning at him widely with an innocence that came across as oddly feral. Maker, why was it that knowing a person could kill you instantly made them exponentially more attractive? 

“Sokka, quit making flirty eyes at the nun,” Katara called. “And Suki, if you’re going to kill my brother, do us all a favor and just get it over with.”

“Maybe wait until after we’ve made it to Redcliffe, though?” offered Aang. “I get the feeling our meeting with Grand Enchanter Kirima isn’t going to be as simple as just walking into a tavern, asking for her help, and then just--getting it.”

The young Herald let his shoulders slump a bit as he began to lead the party through the Hinterland forests. “I mean, it should be that easy. Everyone can see there’s a giant, Creators-forsaken rift in the sky. You’d think they’d all want to help fix it.” 

“Hey, I want to help fix it!” Sokka protested from the back of the group. “And I volunteered back when you were still just a passed-out lump and we didn’t even know you had that glowy-fade-magic, rift-shutter hand thingy. What am I? Chopped nug meat?” 

He paused to sigh, expression growing wistful. 

“Hmm… chopped nug meat.” 

“Watch it,” warned Katara, “I specifically said no complaining about being hungry.”

“I’m not complaining. I’m daydreaming. They’re completely different.” 

“Well, how about you daydream us a path to Redcliffe, then,” Suki interjected, “Preferably one that doesn’t involve scaling any vertical cliff walls and gets us there before the end of the day.” 

“Happily,” Sokka replied, jogging a bit to catch up to where Aang was leading the way. “As you all know, I have an impeccable sense of direction.”

Katara snorted at that, but Aang seemed happy enough to let Sokka guide the group. 

The hike to Redcliffe was largely uneventful. Sokka had made sure to thoroughly study maps of the area before setting out from Haven, so all teasing aside he really did have a good sense of where they were going. The difficulty mostly came from his lack of topographical information--the Hinterlands were full of hill-sized boulders, steep ravines, and mountains that seemed to rise up out of nowhere. The dappled sunlight and forest animals were nice, but Sokka preferred the wide open sightlines of the northern outlands--at least in a desert, if you needed to travel a few miles in one direction, you could do it in a straight line. 

The party was just about to crest the final hill and (if Sokka’s navigation was correct) be in view of the village’s gates when Sokka’s ears caught the echo of a strange, distorted crackling sound. It was just past noon and the sun was high in a cloudless sky; he knew better than to hope it was thunder. The hair on the back of his arms stood up as the forest air was suddenly charged with a distinct electric tang of _wrongness_ that Sokka now associated with the Fade.

Sokka lifted his hand to signal for the party to stop, but by now Katara and Aang had heard it too. Katara dropped back into a defensive position and Aang pulled out his staff to take point. 

“Rift up ahead,” Aang confirmed, cresting the hill. “It’s blocking the way to Redcliffe. Looks like they’ve closed the gates to keep the spirits out.” 

Suki drew her weapons, two lightweight khopesh-style daggers of curved design unique to the Kyoshi sect. She grinned sweetly at Sokka as she took her place at Aang’s left, Sokka flanking on the right. 

“So, are we starting fresh today or are you hoping for a best three out of five?” she asked, eyes trained on the enemies ahead. “Zero to two would be a bit of a deficit to make up. No shame in just admitting I won yesterday so we can start from scratch.” 

“I still maintain that wraiths shouldn’t be worth a full point. Maybe a quarter of a point at most,” replied Sokka, remaining focused on the rift as he spoke, “And I should have gotten extra for taking down that rage demon. Asshole nearly burnt my face off. Can you imagine? _Me_ with a horrible face injury? The Inquisition would never recover from the loss.”

Suki replied with something undoubtedly teasing and defamatory, but Sokka had stopped listening. Sickly green light was spilling down from the sky ahead, as a constant, restless sound of otherworldly splitting warped the air. Sokka counted five visible demons, escaped from the Fade into the material plane but tied to the unnatural green energy that had loosed them: two wraiths, two shades, and a despair demon. If previous experience held true, there were probably at least two more shades lurking about, waiting to attack once the party was weakened. 

Aang turned to Sokka, giving a nod of invitation. They’d fought together enough times now that the young elf knew to trust Sokka’s eye for tactics. 

“Okay,” Sokka began, gesturing forward with his sword, “if you and Katara hang back near those boulders and fight from range, I’ll work on drawing the despair demon’s fire. Focus any broad area attacks on the shades—and Katara, keep some healing spells handy. As Suki has made sure everyone knows by now, she’s faster than me, so she’ll probably be our best bet for taking out the despair demon if it teleports away.”

Aang nodded, the fingers on his left hand tapping absently on his staff. “If I get a clear shot, I’ll try and disturb the rift. Otherwise, I’ll step in once the spirits are down.” 

One day Sokka was going to ask why Aang never called them demons, and if Aang’s mark itched when they were close to a rift. Or if itched when he closed rifts. Maybe it hurt? Or maybe it was like casting any other spell, just without a staff. And was the glow something that came from inside the mark, or did it just reflect the light from the rifts?

Sokka readjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword. Now wasn’t the time for questions. Five enemies visible--take down the shades, keep the despair demon busy. 

Aang signaled for the charge, sending out chain lightning at the shades as Suki and Sokka jumped into action. As much as they enjoyed bickering, on the battlefield Suki and Sokka fought together very well. Suki had been trained in stealth, but her attacks were vicious and physically imposing. Her unique curved blades functioned less like daggers and more like dual shortswords as she spun gracefully from foe to foe. Conversely, Sokka had been trained to fight two-handed and control the flow of battle by drawing fire and physically blocking enemies from advancing. And yet his years working as a mercenary in the borderlands of the Free Marches had given his fighting style a roguish unpredictability. Though he was often physically stronger than his enemies, he prefered to out-think opponents rather than just plowing through with brunt force. Where Sokka seemed rigid and doughty but could be cunningly flexible, Suki appeared flighty and delicate but could just as easily turn on a heel and knock you flat. 

Between the two of them, they made quick work of the wraiths and the first shades. Katara and Aang kept up a steady stream of magical supporting fire as Sokka pivoted towards the despair demon. It was a deceptively frail-looking thing, wrapped in ghostly rags and spewing a constant stream of bone-chilling cold. He lifted his sword, charged forward and--

In an instant everything came to a halt. Sokka blinked; something was very, very wrong. The world lurched forward again, but his legs moved slowly, as if wading through some sort of viscous liquid. He tried to look down, but his eyes wouldn’t move fast enough. He willed his arms to swing his weapon, but they too barely inched forward. Sokka tried to push himself harder and break through, but even the downward blinking of his eyelids came too slow—and then for a sickening moment everything shifted again. 

His body was moving normally now, but his mind was racing so quickly his own thoughts became alien. Muscle memory put one foot in front of the other as his brain cycled through twelve different impulses simultaneously. It was worse than dizzying, so fundamentally disorienting he could barely breathe. 

The despair demon was about to attack, and Sokka felt sick. If he concentrated, he could slow his thoughts down, but as soon as he did he felt once again as though his body was travelling through quicksand, muscles fuzzy and unresponsive. He barely managed to parry as the despair demon slashed at him. 

He couldn't take this much longer; every part of him was screaming out in a dissonant confusion more powerful than anything he’d ever felt. It was like trying to look in two directions at once--either his mind was his own but his body was so slow as to essentially be unresponsive or his body was functioning but his mind careened from thought to thought at bewilderingly unnatural speeds. 

And then as suddenly as it had come, the disturbance disappeared.

Time righted itself and Sokka cut across the demon with a vanquishing blow, bits of diseased spirit bursting and floating back up towards the Fade. 

Sokka turned to see Aang lift his left hand to face the glowing green rift, a tendril of magical energy shooting up into the tear between planes. Aang held his ground as the fabric of reality hissed and sputtered around him, his mark confronting the rift, two like poles repelling one another. With a final loud crack the rift was sealed and Aang took a step back, catching himself with his staff and leaning on it heavily. 

In the sudden quiet, the party began to regroup.

It was official: Sokka was _definitely_ going to be sick.

“Maker preserve us--what was that?” Suki breathed, wiping a bit of ichor from her brow with the back of a hand. 

“It looked like some sort of time distortion,” suggested Katara. “You and Sokka seemed to be moving in slow motion for a few moments there, and then you looked like you repeated a short loop of actions twice, Suki. Aang got caught in it for a minute too when he went to close the rift, but his movements sped up.” 

The bile was still rising in his throat; Sokka stepped back and took a few deep breaths; in through his nose, out through his mouth, in through his nose...

“It was horrible,” said Aang. “It was like my consciousness was out of sync with the rest of me--the rest of everything. I’ve never felt _anything_ like that before.” There was a pause as he lifted his still-glowing left hand with a rueful smile. “And I’m kind of the authority on weird new magical sensations right now.” 

Katara placed a reassuring hand on Aang’s shoulder. “Whatever’s going on here, I’m sure the Grand Enchanter will know more. We’ll fix this. I know we will.” 

“Thanks, Katara,” said Aang, his smile brightening from rueful to something more genuine. 

And amidst it all Sokka had somehow actually managed to keep his breakfast down. Though in all fairness, losing this morning’s particular breakfast wouldn’t have been much of a hardship. 

Movement at the village gate caught his eye.

“Looks like they’re opening up now that the rift is sealed,” he said, gesturing forwards. “Onwards and upwards, team Herald-of-Andraste! Let’s go get us some mages.”

Aang let out an amused huff as they walked towards the gates. “I told you that’s really not a good team name.” 

“Yeah, well, I could just say ‘let’s go, team Herald!’ or ‘team Herald, attack!’--but then it sounds like we’re a group of people named Harold. And that makes even less sense.” 

All three of his companions chuckled a bit at Sokka’s explanation, and he entered Redcliffe pleased to have lightened the mood from “oppressively foreboding” to a mere “vaguely unsettled.”

***

Zuko paced the small space of his room at The Gull and Lantern. If his calculations were correct, the Herald should be arriving any day now. The southern mages had already pledged themselves to the Imperium--all that was left was to capture the Herald and deliver him back to the Elder One for his father’s plan to be complete. After so much work and so long waiting for his chance, Zuko was finally going to get to prove his worth.

He twisted the signet ring on the smallest finger of his left hand as he waited, still pacing restlessly. The ring was sized for his sister, another reminder that even his current position in the Magisterium was conditional--on loan so he would have the legal standing to offer the southern mages indenture. Though if he succeeded, there was a good chance his father would allow Zuko to keep his new rank when he returned. He would be recognized officially in the Imperium as the firstborn son of the Imperial Divine and rightful heir to the Rexignis house. He would unseat his sister and become a true Magister, perhaps even--someday--the Archon. Zuko had already bent time itself to his will; the Herald would not stand in his way. He would not fail his father and he would not fail his country. Not again. 

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Zuko called, reaching for his formal Venatori mantle. 

A timid servant woman entered, eyes on the floor. 

“The rift at the gate has been closed, messere,” she announced. “Four newcomers have entered; they claim to be representatives of the Inquisition. They are downstairs meeting with the Grand Enchant--with, um, with Mistress Kirima as we speak.”

Zuko adjusted his robes, pulling up the hood of his mantle as the servant spoke. With his family’s signet ring on his finger and his mantle marking him openly as Venetori, he felt as though he was standing on the precipice of some great and momentous event. Though these backwards southerners wouldn’t understand the significance of his attire, they would all realize soon enough that they were in the presence of royalty. 

“Thank you,” he said curtly, without looking towards the servant. “I will be down right away. Please send for my uncle. He will most likely be in the chantry if he is not in his room.” 

The girl nodded, exiting silently. 

Zuko turned to follow, but paused at the door to glanced over at the iron box sitting on the small table to his left. He had no reason to think things might turn violent--in fact, he had orchestrated this meeting to avoid such confrontation. However, if something went wrong it would be best he not be caught unarmed. The device would fit under the sleeves of his robes and even if someone saw it, he highly doubted anyone from Fereldan would know its function. Better safe than sorry. 

Zuko opened the box with a quick incantation, the lock responding to his magic with a soft click. He lifted the lid and retrieved the metal, bracer-like object from inside. He lifted his right hand sleeve and fit the device, his sanguitor, over the upper area of his forearm, just below the elbow. Zuko then clamped it down, letting out a slow steadying breath as the sanguitor’s needles embedded themselves in the soft flesh of the underside of his forearm. It was a familiar, grounding pain, and Zuko welcomed it. He let his sleeve fall back down, easily concealing the metal now sitting flush against his arm. 

Yes, better safe than sorry. 

Zuko exited his room and strode purposefully down the stairs into the main area of the tavern. Four strangers stood at the far side of the structure, speaking with Kirima in low tones: two elves, a human woman, and a qunari man. Zuko almost hesitated at the sight--apparently the Herald kept strange company. One of the elves was female and clearly a mage, though her clothing was closer fitted and more practical than the uniform robes of the many Circle mages Zuko had encountered thus far. The other female, a human of average height and athletic build, wore a long, sleeveless armored shirt of quilted leather over a knee-length dress constructed of several overlapping panels of dark green material. Her face was heavily painted in a garish mask of whites and reds, and her short brown hair was held back by some sort of polished brass headpiece. 

It was the qunari that surprised Zuko the most; it was extremely rare to see one so far into Ferelden. Like all qunari, he was tall and muscular, easily a head taller than Zuko. His skin was a light grey and his horns were short, curled flat up past his temples into twin backwards points. His white hair was shaved at the sides, the top left long enough to be pulled back in a short ponytail. The vitaar on his chest, face, and left arm was painted in symbols unfamiliar to Zuko—so he was Vashoth, most likely. Perhaps, if Zuko was lucky, this qunari had been raised here in the south and would be unacquainted with the fighting styles of Tevinter mages. Though, Zuko acknowledged as he eyed the large sword strapped to the qunari’s side, he was almost never lucky. 

That left the final elf, a somewhat lanky male who was still speaking to Kirima as Zuko approached. Zuko knew the Herald was from a clan of Dalish elves, so this must be him. His tattoos made him extremely easy to identify; the elf’s shaved head was covered in an intricate arrow-shaped design that continued the whole way down his arms and legs. After all of Zuko’s work essentially inventing time magic so he could literally _warp the fourth dimension_ \--finally seeing the Herald in person was rather anticlimactic. Was this lean elf in an oversized, nondescript tunic really the mage who managed to steal the Anchor from the Elder One? He looked so… young. The elf’s face was open and seemingly guileless as he spoke animatedly with Kirima, no hint of the practiced mask of neutrality Zuko was so used to seeing back home. 

Zuko quickly tamped down his disappointment. If his opponent was naive and unskilled, all the better. He had been assuming his success would ultimately hinge on an intense battle of magic, but if this young elf was the Herald, then perhaps he could be subdued without much trouble. 

“I am sorry, Herald. But I no longer have the authority to speak on behalf of the free mages,” Kirima was explaining as Zuko entered the small semicircle of people. She turned to him, inclining her head slightly in a show of deference. “Ah, yes. Here he is. Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to present Magister Zuko Rexignis. You will need to address your enquiries to him.”

Zuko stepped forward and pulled down the hood of his mantle. “Thank you, Kirima, you are dismissed.” 

Kirima shot him a look of indignation, but said nothing as she nodded and turned to leave.

“Now then,” Zuko said, turning to address the Herald. “As the southern mages have pledged themselves to the Imperium, they are currently under my command. I believe you are here to negotiate some sort of alliance?”

“That is correct, Magister Zuko,” replied the Herald politely. “My name is Aang and I am here on behalf of the Inquisition. We hope to enlist the help of the free mages to contain the Breach.” 

“So it’s true, then.” Zuko fought to keep his voice steady, feigning innocent curiosity. “You’re the survivor, the one who escaped the explosion and fell from the Fade. And you believe you have the power to close the central rift?” 

A wave of uncertainty passed quite plainly over the elf’s face. “Well, if we can enlist the mages’ help, I do think we have a shot.”

“Hm. An ambitious plan,” Zuko rubbed his chin, pretending to think it over. “The mages here are hardly well trained. In fact, the Imperium is taking on quite an expense in extending this opportunity to them--it will take time for them to work off their debt. Even with their help, you may lack the necessary power. Though I was told you were able to seal the rift at Redcliffe’s gates. How exactly did you accomplish this?”

Again, the Herald looked uncertain. He shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uneasy as he lifted his left hand towards Zuko. “Well, I was actually hoping you’d be able to answer some questions about that. There was something strange about that rift, but I was able to close it using--”

Whatever Aang was about to say was cut short by the sound of a tray full of dishes being set down noisily on a nearby table. Zuko turned, furious at the interruption, only to see his uncle standing behind him. 

“Nephew, what a poor host you are, making our guests stand there and talk without offering refreshments or even a place to sit,” said Iroh, his tone somehow both jovial and admonishing as he gestured towards the table next to him. “Come, come. I’ve made tea.” 

Zuko resisted the urge to reach up and rub the bridge of his nose in frustration. Why had he asked the servant girl to send for his uncle again? 

“Of course,” Zuko managed through gritted teeth. “My apologies. Please take a seat.”

The four inquisition agents exchanged looks of hesitation. Aang was the first to shrug and walk over to a seat. The other three followed, the qunari looking especially uncomfortable in a seat clearly not designed to hold someone of his size. 

Zuko approached the table, sending a very pointed _‘fasta vass, uncle, what the void are you doing?_ ’ look towards Iroh, who blithely ignored him and began to pour the tea. Zuko bit back a sigh and sat in one of the last unclaimed seats. 

“Allow me to introduce my uncle, Altus Iroh Rexignis, formerly a General of the--” Zuko began, before Iroh cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“Oh come now, nephew. We did not travel so far from the Imperium just to get lost in unnecessary formalities.” Iroh placed an empty cup in front of Zuko and began to pour. “Simply Iroh will suffice. I admit I do not know what flavors are preferred here in the South, but this tea is my own special blend, brought all the way from Minrathous. I do hope you will enjoy it.”

“Ma sarannas, Iroh,” replied Aang, falling back on his native tongue--either in response to Iroh’s request for informality or in direct rejection of it, Zuko couldn’t tell. “I am Aang. And this is Suki, Katara, and Sokka.”

Iroh nodded at each in turn, coming to fill Aang’s cup last. 

There was a sudden crash as the kettle slipped in Iroh’s hands, spilling tea all over the Herald and knocking over his cup. Out of instinct, Zuko attempted to catch the cup, but he was a moment too slow and it smashed on the ground. 

Both the qunari and the painted woman--Sokka and Suki, Aang had called them--stood quickly to their feet. Suki reached protectively towards Aang and Zuko saw Sokka’s hand go to his weapon. Katara, the dark-haired female elf, was staring at Zuko wide-eyed, so he made a show of moving slowly and non-threateningly as he righted himself and took stock of the mess his uncle had made.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Iroh was saying as he attempted to use the sleeves of his robe to wipe tea from the flustered and now rather soggy Aang. “Forgive me. These old hands aren’t as dexterous as they once were.”

A servant appeared from behind the tavern’s bar with a handful of rags and began to collect bits of broken ceramic. Suki and Sokka seemed to relax a bit now that the initial chaos was over, but Sokka’s hand stayed on his weapon as he sat back down. 

Zuko watched through slightly narrowed eyes as Iroh continued to fuss over Aang and the mess on the table. Something suspicious was definitely going on. His uncle was an expert at both brewing and serving tea, and he _never_ wasted even a single drop of his special house blend. 

“It seems I have interrupted the negotiations before they could even begin. I am terribly sorry for this mess, Aang.” Iroh paused to look towards Zuko. “Perhaps we should resume our meeting in a few hours?”

To those who did not know him well, Iroh’s expression still appeared to be one of cheerful politeness, but Zuko could hear the unspoken request as clearly as if his uncle had spoken aloud: “ _Trust me.Go with this_.”

It was absolute torture to be so close to his goal and not to be able to seize it. But the situation was clearly serious if Iroh was willing to literally spill tea over it. Zuko could hold off for a few more hours. He owed his uncle at least that much. 

“Yes, perhaps that would be best.” Zuko rose and turned to Aang. “Would you be able to meet us at the castle this evening? I can send word to your scouts at the gate when we have a more specific time. I’ll make sure to have all the necessary paperwork available. I’m sure we can come to some sort of mutually beneficial agreement.”

Again, Aang looked to his companions for consent before turning to Zuko and nodding in agreement. “Very well. We will resume this discussion at Redcliffe castle. Thank you for your time, Magister Rexignis. And thank you for the tea, Iroh. I’m sure it would have been delicious. It certainly smelled wonderful.” 

Iroh smiled. “You are too kind, Aang. Once again, I am so sorry for the mess. I will brew more tea for tonight. However,” he added with a chuckle, “perhaps I will let my nephew serve it next time.”

Aang gave Iroh a quick bow of farewell before exiting the inn with his companions in tow. Sokka was the last to leave, his hand still firmly on his weapon as Zuko watched him walk to the door. At the last moment, Sokka paused and looked back, and the two made sudden eye contact. The qunari’s face was impassive, his mouth set in a firm line, but his piercing light eyes held the distinct steely fire of an unspoken challenge. Zuko blinked, taken aback, but before he had the chance to school his features into something vaguely diplomatic, Sokka was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna kick start the redemption arc earlier than in the show, but ya'll know I have to at least start off with angry antagonist Zuko. I'm having a lot of fun figuring out who all the different characters would be if they existed in Thedas, so in case it wasn't obvious, Suki is a rogue, Sokka is a warrior, and so far all the benders (Katara, Aang, Zuko, Iroh) are mages. I promise I'll get around to explaining how Sokka and Katara can be siblings if he's qunari and she's an elf. Don't worry. 
> 
> Also: shout out to anyone who's actually taken the time to read this. Nothing like crossing a kid's show from 2005 with a fantasy RPG game from 2014 to make sure that my first ever fanfiction is obscure as f*ck. If you know anyone else who hits the center of this super specific Venn diagram, please pass it along! New chapter coming next week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are unfamiliar with the Dragon Age Games, a list of definitions for the handful of game-specific words used in this chapter can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26032165)

**Chapter 2**

Sokka seethed as he let the door of the Gull and Lantern fall closed behind him. Of all the things they could have possibly found hiding here in the ass-end of Ferelden, it just had to be a fucking  _ Vint. _ And not just any Vint, but an actual sodding Magister. He had even been wearing one of those stupid hoods with ugly pointed bits hanging backwards off it like demented party streamers. If Sokka wasn’t so angry, it would almost be funny: Zuko was an absolute Tevinter cliche, complete with long black hair, striking angular profile, and a dramatic scar around his left eye that extended all the way back to his temple. As if the fade rifts, demons, and time distortions weren’t enough already--on top of it all, now they had to deal with the absolute Vint-iest Vint Sokka had ever seen. All Zuko was missing was a mustache to twirl maniacally.

“Well, that meeting didn’t go anything like I expected,” said Aang as the group entered the village square. “Not that I had any specific expectations, exactly. But still.” 

“Yes, it was definitely strange,” Suki agreed. “But maybe we should find a slightly less populated place to discuss things.” 

It was past midday and the square was full of people of various races. Most were clearly refugees, and at least a third wore the distinct, full-length robes of Circle mages. Aang veered the group off to the left, heading for an open space of rocks and trees just outside Redcliffe village’s central hub of thatched-roof buildings. A few more minutes and they would be out of earshot of the crowds.

Katara fell in step with Sokka as they walked, a grim look on her face that mirrored his own. 

“You saw it too, didn’t you? When the Magister went to catch that cup?” she asked in a tense whisper. 

“Yeah, I saw it,” Sokka grumbled back. “Though I have no idea what someone like him is doing so far away from Tevinter. Or how he managed to beat us here and make arrangements with Kirima so quickly.”

“We need to explain things to Aang. I’d bet anything the meeting at the castle is a setup.”

“I agree. But if the free mages have really pledged themselves to the Imperium, I’m not sure what other options we have. Coming here meant we missed our chance to reach out to the Templars, and there’s no way we can close the Breach alone.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Her expression softened a bit as her eyes came to rest on the Herald’s back. “We’ve already seen Aang do the impossible multiple times now. We don’t even bat an eye anymore when he repairs holes in the material plane single-handed. There’s going to be a solution somehow. I just know it.”

Sokka did his best to bite back the mocking, pessimistic reply that jumped into his mind. No matter how many times life knocked her down, his little sister was always fiercely determined to hope. He’d spent most of his life ridiculing her optimism with snark and condescension, but today? Things were dire enough without him rubbing it in. Best to just stay silent and let her have this one. 

When the party reached the crest of the hill they had been climbing, Aang stopped and turned back to his companions, dropping to sit cross legged on the grass and balance his staff across his lap. 

“So,” he began. “As I was saying. Super weird meeting. Whoever or whatever it was that invited us here, it wasn’t Kirima. Sure looked exactly like her, though. You were with me in Val Royeux, Suki. Didn’t she look exactly the same?”

Suki followed Aang’s lead, settling effortlessly into a perfect lotus pose on the forest floor. “Yeah, she did. But honestly, I’m more interested in why she was so quick to agree to indentured servitude to the Tevinter Imperium. I mean, they call themselves the  _ Free Mages _ for crying out loud. You think they’d be a little less keen to trade that freedom away.”

Katara and Sokka shared a look as Katara joined the other two on the grass. 

“I may have a theory on that, actually,” she offered. “I don’t know if either of you noticed it, but when the Magister reached over to try and catch Aang’s cup, his sleeve caught on the table and you could see he was wearing a sort of metal gauntlet thing, right here on his forearm,” she explained, pointing to the space below the inside of her elbow. “Sokka and I have seen those before. Only a few times, and only when fighting slavers.”

Katara spit the word out and let it hang in the air, her face dark. Slavery, espeically the enslavement of elves, was common practice in Tevinter; periodically, raiding parties would travel south to kidnap new merchandise. 

“I don’t know how these devices work exactly, but from what we’ve seen, they’re used to increase the power of blood magic,” she continued. “Unless I’m completely off base, Zuko isn’t just a Magister. He’s also a maleficar.” 

“I’ve never been to Minrathous, but rumor is Magister and maleficar are basically synonyms anyways.” Sokka added from where he was leaning against a tree. He was definitely flexible enough to sit cross legged like everyone else if he wanted. He just didn’t feel like it right now. Leaning on this tree was the smarter tactical position anyways--in case they were ambushed. 

“So you think Zuko has Kirima under some sort of thrall?” asked Suki. 

“I can’t tell for sure,” Katara admitted, “But between the mysterious not-Kirima you and Aang met in Val Royeux, the time distortions at the rift near the gates, and this Magister showing up out of nowhere to pluck the mages right out from under us--there’s got to be blood magic involved.”

“That, and the meeting at the castle is almost definitely a trap,” added Sokka. 

“Fenedhis! Of course it is.” Aang let out a huff of frustration, kicking out his legs and throwing back his head to lay flat on the ground. The dramatic display dislodged a small slip of paper from his clothing, which Suki plucked from the grass. 

“What’s this?”

Aang propped himself up on his elbows, squinting. “I don’t know. What’s it say?”

“Come to the Chantry, you are in danger,” Suki read aloud. “Hmph. As if we didn’t know that already.” 

“Wait, I bet Iroh slipped that into my clothes while he was trying to dry the tea off my tunic.” Aang’s brow crinkled. “Why would Iroh want us to go to the Chantry? Is this some sort of pre-trap trick before the real trap happens at the castle?”

Sokka walked over and grabbed the paper from Suki. There weren’t any more clues on it, just the two short sentences. “Hey, don’t look at me. If I was planning an ambush, I would definitely set it up at the castle--remote, private, lots of nooks and crannies to hide goons in. The Chantry here is way too small for a good ambush, and it’s open to the public. It would be really hard to set a trap there without being obvious about it.” 

“I’m not sure why, but I feel like I can trust Iroh.” Aang scratched at the magical scar on his left hand absently. “Well, maybe not trust him, exactly. But I at least don’t think he’d try to ambush us in a house of worship.” 

“I don’t know, Aang,” Katara replied quietly. “You’ve never been to Tevinter. You’ve never fought Slavers. The mages from up north--especially the ones from noble families--they’re not like you and me. They’re trained from birth to lie, cheat, steal, murder--anything to consolidate power. People aren’t people to them. Elves even less so.” 

Aang seemed a bit taken aback by the hatred in Katara’s voice, but Sokka knew she was right--at least in some ways. Tevinter Slavers were the most vile, brutal enemies he had ever faced. Between the two of them, he and Katara had more than their fair share of reasons to hate Vints. 

“Well,” said Suki as she stood, “it looks like we’ve got two options. We can ignore the secret note from Iroh and go into the meeting at the castle completely blind, or we can keep our guard up, head to the chantry, and do our best to suss out his motives. We don’t need to trust him to try and get information out of him.”

“Suki’s right,” said Sokka, earning a glare from his sister which he ignored. “And it’s not like we have anything else to do with the rest of our day but make small talk with the villagers.”

Aang nodded. “It’s decided then. We’ll go to the chantry and see what Iroh has to say. From there we can regroup with the soldiers at the front gates and decide what to do about the castle meeting.” 

“It seems I’ve been outvoted,” said Katara with a sigh. “But you’re the one with the mark; you’re the Herald. I trust your judgement, Aang.” She reached forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Just--please be careful. Blood magic is so incredibly dangerous. Don’t let Iroh trick you into dropping your guard.”

Aang patted her hand and offered an encouraging smile. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. Even if he is a maleficar, it’s still one against four. We’ll keep each other safe.” 

It was a short walk back into the village square. The chantry was one of Redcliffe’s more impressive buildings, but it was still relatively simple. Its thick stone walls rose high around a large central, open sanctuary, two much smaller rooms branching to the left and right of the central altar, forming a T shape. The doors to the building were propped open, and a handful of primarily human worshipers filtered in and out.

The Sister at the door greeted the party as they approached, looking past Aang to address Suki with a slight bow, hand over her heart. “Welcome, Sister. Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.”

Suki mirrored her pose, lifting a hand to chest and replying, “Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.”

“The Redcliffe Chantry is honored to welcome a Kyoshi initiate. We do not have many resources to offer, but those we do have are at your disposal.” The Sister straightened, letting her hand fall back to her side. “May I ask what business has brought you so far from your home?”

“I am traveling with the Inquisition as a companion of the Herald of Andraste,” Suki explained, gesturing toward Aang. 

The Sister’s formality instantly dropped, her mouth agape as she turned to face Aang. 

“Oh, Blessed be the Maker! It is true, then?” she asked excitedly. “You have seen Our Lady? She spoke to you from the Fade?”

Aang faltered under the woman’s earnestness, reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously. “Well, um--”

“Please, Sister,” Suki cut in, “We have travelled far. The Herald closed the rift at the village gates, and he is tired. We seek only a few moments of quiet reflection.”

The Sister nodded, remembering herself and regaining her composure. “Of course. Please come in. The Reverend Mother is out attending the sick in the refugee camp, but if you require anything in the meantime, just let any of us know and we will be glad to help. 

“Thank you.” Suki once again lifted her hand to her chest in farewell. “There is but one world, one life, one death.”

“There is but one god, and He is our Maker,” the Sister replied, bowing. 

Sokka scanned the inside of the sanctuary as the group entered. The building’s only visible windows were small, stained glass affairs at the far end of the room, above the altar. Lamps stood in alcoves at even intervals along the side walls and two simple iron chandeliers hung suspended from the arched ceiling. Rows of plain wooden pews filled the space, split by a central aisle, and a handful of villagers sat scattered amongst them. The soft golden firelight and hushed whispers of the penitent were a welcome contrast to the bright afternoon sun and busy bustle of the crowds in the village square. 

Iroh was easy to spot, his balding crown surrounded by a ring of grey shoulder-length grey hair. He was sitting alone in one of the front pews, head bowed. 

Suki tugged on Sokka’s arm. 

“You guys go ahead,” she whispered. “I’ll stay back here near the door and make sure our exit stays clear. If I see anything suspicious, I’ll whistle.”

“You’ll whistle?” Sokka bit back a laugh. “What, like a bird call?”

“I mean, I could break out in song or start screaming the Chant of Light if you’d prefer--”

“No, no, nevermind. That’s fine. I’ll keep my ears open.”

Suki split off from the group as Aang walked forward to take a seat next to Iroh. Sokka and Katara slipped into the pew directly behind, Katara pulling her staff from where it was slung across her back and letting rest within reach next to her. If any of the Sisters saw this, they were apparently accustomed enough to free mages by now not to protest. 

“Ah, Aang. I’m so glad you’ve decided to come,” Iroh greeted the Herald in low tones, a kind smile on his face. “The Chantry here is a beautiful place, is it not? It is simple, but it offers an air of humble peace that I quite admire.”

“I suppose so,” replied Aang, glancing around. “Your note said we were in danger?”

“Yes, of course. Pardon my musings. I am sorry for all the secrecy, but I needed to find a way to speak with you alone without raising the suspicion of my nephew. As I’m sure you probably suspect by now, his request to meet at the castle is a trap. He is there right now organizing his men to capture you.” 

“Capture me? But why?”

“That is a complicated question, my young friend,” Iroh sighed. “You see, my brother Ozai, Zuko’s father, is the head of the Imperial Chantry in Tevinter--I believe here he is known as the Black Divine. Over the past couple of decades he has managed to amass an incredible amount of influence, rivaling even that of the Archon. He has forsaken his call to serve the Maker and is instead stoking the fire of nationalism in his followers, claiming it is their moral duty to restore the Tevinter Empire to its former glory. His disciples call themselves the Venatori, and they become more fanatical by the day. It is Ozai and the Venetori who wish to see you captured, not my nephew.”

“But why? What does any of this have to do with the Breach? I’m only special because I can close rifts. Leaving a giant magical hole in the sky doesn’t do anything to help Tevinter.”

“My brother has long since stopped sharing his plans with me. However, I do know that he has sent Zuko here with express instructions to both capture the Herald and prevent the free mages from aligning themselves with the Inquisition.” Iroh arched an eyebrow slightly. “Surely it must have seemed strange to you that Zuko arrived at Redcliffe just in time to gain influence over Kirima when she was her most vulnerable.”

Aang nodded. “It is a bit of an unbelievable coincidence. You must have left Tevinter before the Conclave was even held.”

Iroh leaned in closer to Aang, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Precisely. This is the true reason I wished to speak with you. You see, my nephew has been using a new form of incredibly unstable magic.”

Next to him, Sokka felt Katara tense. She reached for her staff as Iroh continued.

“When Zuko was younger, he and I did some research into the possibility of using magic to manipulate time. It was purely theoretical then, but using his father’s resources, Zuko has made it a reality. He used this magic to manipulate the timeline so that he could arrive here at the exact moment when Kirima would be most desperate for his aid. Doing this has upset the natural balance, and I fear that if you do not stop him, he will continue until he has unravelled time itself.”

Iroh leaned heavily against the back of the pew. The line of his shoulders sagged and for the first time in the entire conversation, he truly looked old. 

“You must understand, Aang. I love my nephew very dearly. He is not a naturally cruel person, but he can be reckless. His desire to please his father has blinded him to the harm he is causing. I understand that he must be stopped, but I am telling you all of this because I do not believe Zuko is beyond reason.” Iroh handed Aang a small, hand-drawn map. “There is a secret entrance to the castle from the village mill. If you send your people in silently and foil Zuko’s ambush before it is able to begin, then perhaps he will be forced to stop and face the reality of what he is doing. I only ask that when the time comes, you will hold your people back and give me a chance to speak with him.”

Aang was silent at first, looking at the map in his hands as he processed the information. 

“I’m still not sure I completely understand,” he began. “Why me? What do the Black Divine and these Venatori people want? Did they have something to do with the explosion at the Conclave?”

“That I cannot say. Ozai’s actions have become increasingly erratic in the past year. He has always been ruthlessly ambitious, but recently he has been taking actions that I cannot make sense of. He has told the Venatori that he is acting on behalf of an entity called the Elder One who has come to reclaim Thedas for the Tevinter Empire. Apparently, this Elder One is very interested in your mark. As for the connection between these two things, your guess is as good as mine.”

Aang took a deep breath, folding the map and tucking it into his tunic. 

“Thank you, Iroh,” he said at length. “I don’t want to cause any unnecessary bloodshed. I promise you, if there is a way for Zuko to surrender peacefully, I will do everything in my power to make it so.”

Sokka heard Katara release a quiet huff at Aang’s promise, either in anger or disbelief he couldn’t tell. She remained rigid where she sat, hands tight around her staff. 

The corners of Iroh’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at Aang, clearly relieved. “The path of peace is a difficult one, especially for a leader like yourself, surrounded by so much turmoil. Your words bring me much hope. The Maker weaves fate in unpredictable ways. Perhaps it is your destiny to bring us balance. For now, I can only thank you for offering to help me stop my nephew from continuing down this destructive path.”

Aang returned Iroh’s smile and stood to leave. 

“Dareth shiral, ma falon,” he said. Sokka noted it was the second time Aang had addressed Iroh in Elvish, but wasn’t sure what to make of it. From context he assumed it was some sort of farewell. 

Katara and Sokka followed Aang out of the chantry, regrouping with Suki on the way. No one moved to stop them, though the Sister at the door offered Suki a parting word of goodwill. 

This time it was Katara’s turn to seethe. Where Sokka would curse, yell, and generally be loud and obnoxious when he was upset, Katara’s anger was a silent thing. In general, she was one of the most kindhearted and generous people Sokka knew, but when you made her mad, well… Honestly, it was terrifying. Sokka tried not to telegraph his nervousness too much as the party headed back towards the village gates. He knew one thing for sure--the next few hours were going to be interesting. 

***

It was early evening when the Herald’s party arrived at the Redcliffe castle. Suki had volunteered to lead the infiltration party, so for now Aang, Sokka, and Katara’s job was to keep Zuko busy long enough for Suki’s team to neutralize the Magister’s men. Sokka was kicking himself for not having Aang ask Iroh for specific details on the Venatori forces Zuko had brought with him. Between what Kirima had been able to tell them and the information the Inquisition scouts had collected, the Venatori seemed to number somewhere between “a significant presence” and “full-on invasion.” Whatever their exact size, the Venetori had been intimidating enough to convince the Arl to abandon Redcliffe castle--and that hadn’t even happened during the Blight. Not exactly a reassuring sign. 

Aang had agreed to bring three inquisition soldiers with them in Suki’s absence, but the bulk of their allies were on infiltration duty. If (as Katara kept insisting they all remember was possible) Iroh’s map turned out to be a trick, they were pretty much fucked. The whole point of castles was that they were difficult to breach and easy to defend. If things went sideways, Sokka’s primary contingency plan was to grab Aang, start running, and not stop until they either made it back to Haven or died along the way. Odds were, they would die along the way. Definitely not his best plan, but considering he was working with basically no resources and even less time… Well, hopefully for once in his life plan A would actually manage to work. At the very least, their scouts had found a secret entrance to some underground corridors in the Mill where Iroh’s map began. So that was a major point in the “not dying” column. 

They were greeted at the door by two Tevinter mages wearing the same ugly style of overly ornate red and black robes that Magister Zuko had worn at the tavern. Unnecessary bits of metal were affixed to their outfits in random places: buckles with no clear function, grommets without laces, and bits of chain hanging loose, securing nothing. Sokka supposed that the overall impression was meant to be threatening, but the constant, dainty clinking noises that echoed down the empty castle corridors as the mages walked struck him as rather ridiculous. 

As the Herald’s small party navigated through the eerily silent castle, two more Tevinter mages appeared from behind, hemming the group in. No one spoke. The Venatori--for that’s clearly what these four mages were--walked confidently, bladed staffs in hand. No one had even asked Aang or his companions to remove their weapons for what was, ostensibly, an entirely diplomatic meeting. Sokka was glad to have his weapons, but the fact that no one had even batted an eye at the  _ three soldiers in full plate _ accompanying Aang was rather unsettling. Hopefully it was overconfidence--dear Maker above, please let it be a show of overconfidence. 

Finally, the group approached the castle’s throne room. The space held none of the hearty warmth and bustling life that Sokka associated with Fereldan nobility. At this time of day, the grand hall of a castle this size should be full of servants stoking the fireplaces, boisterous lords eating, drinking, and telling stories, and mildly annoyed ladies pretending not to enjoy them. Instead, like the rest of the castle, the room was quiet, damp, and austere. Magister Zuko sat on a throne atop a low dais at the far end of the room, flanked by four more Venatori, while Iroh and Kirimi stood below and in front of him, next to a table covered in various documents and quills. Sokka noticed the table also held a pot of tea, though given that Iroh was aware that everyone here knew this meeting was a sham, he had to wonder for whose benefit it had been brewed. 

Zuko waited until they had crossed the full length of the room to stand from the throne and address them. 

“Welcome, Inquisition, to Redcliffe castle,” he said, stepping down from the dais. 

“Thank you, Magister Zuko,” replied Aang with a slight bow. “Though I must admit it’s not exactly what I expected.” He let out a small, nervous chuckle that echoed awkwardly in the hall. “I mean, no offense, but there’s just not a lot of people here. I always thought that big shemlen buildings like this would have lots of people inside. Where are the Arl and his family?”

“The Arl was not accustomed to mages practicing magic openly.” Zuko’s face was impassive as he spoke, the perfect image of a composed politician. “To avoid conflict, we decided it was best for them to exit the castle. At least for now.”

Sokka managed not to scoff at that, but it was a near thing. Nobody manufactured bullshit quite like a highborn vint. 

“And speaking of mages,” Zuko continued, “Let’s go ahead and get to business. You need mages to seal the Breach, and I have them. What can you offer in exchange? I admit I’m quite intrigued by your ability to close rifts. Perhaps if I knew more, we could find a way to work together.”

Sokka spotted movement in a few of the dark alcoves lining the sides of the hall. He forced himself not to look, feigning obliviousness but preparing himself to react if necessary. Katara already had her staff out and she was gripping it tightly, her blazing eyes fixed on Zuko. 

“Work… together?” Aang’s voice faltered as his eyes flicked towards Iroh. The Herald was not a good liar, and keeping up pretenses was clearly weighing on him. His hand tightened around the staff he had been holding loosely to the side, pulling it up close to himself. “I’m sorry, but I can’t agree to work with people who are lying to me.”

Zuko’s jaw clenched as, for a moment, a visible wave of anger broke through his facade of calm. Sokka’s hand went to his weapon as behind him he heard the Inquisition soldiers shift in their armor. Behind Zuko, the Venatori mages tensed.

“Lying to you?” Zuko’s eyes flicked towards the left and right walls of the room, most likely attempting to calculate whether or not the situation could be salvaged. “I’m not sure what you--”

Iroh stepped up to Zuko, interrupting him with a hand on the shoulder. 

“Nephew, stop this. We can drop the act.” Iroh’s voice was soft but firm. “They know of your plan.” 

There was the sound of scuffling and a few muffled cries. Suki and her fighters promptly emerged from the various darkened alcoves and inset doorways where they had been hiding, each with a disarmed Venatori agent at knife- or arrow-point. Suki’s captive, a muscular man who towered above her in a garish studded breastplate, was gagged with his arms bound behind his back. She caught Sokka’s eye as she pushed the man forward with the butt end of her dagger, sending the qunari a bright smile. Maker’s blood. If they survived this, Sokka was  _ definitely _ going to have to find an excuse to spar with that woman. 

Zuko backed away from his uncle, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder.

“Uncle, what have you done?” he asked, voice bitter.

“He told me the truth.” Aang stepped forward carefully, one hand remaining on his staff as he raised the other in an open, placating gesture. “We know about the Venatori and the time magic. What you’re doing here is incredibly dangerous. You’re putting everyone, even yourself, at risk. You must see that.” 

Behind Zuko, the four still-armed Venatori mages took offensive stances, awaiting orders. Kirima drew her staff as well, taking several steps backwards and looking back and forth between Aang and Zuko warily. It was only then that Sokka realized that Zuko didn’t have a staff--his only visible weapons were twin swords strapped to his back which he had not yet moved to draw. 

Zuko ignored Aang, turning instead on his uncle with a raised voice. “Do you even understand what you’re ruining? You would betray your country so easily? The Elder One will restore the honor of the Imperium, raise Tevinter to glory from its ashes! It is our duty--”

“Duty?” Iroh interjected. “Nephew, please. Listen to yourself. The honor of the Imperium? The glory of Tevinter? These are not your words. You parrot causes others have thrust upon you--but you do not need to do this. You can make your own path.” 

“You don’t understand!” Zuko was shouting now. “This  _ is _ my path. When I return to my father, he will give me the power of the Elder One. Don’t you see? With that sort of power, I could go back and fix everything.” He reached up to clasp at a palm-sized object hanging on a chain around his neck, voice quieting. “I could save him, Uncle. I could give you back your real son.” 

Iroh’s expression instantly clouded with a weary sort of grief. 

“Oh, Zuko. What is done is done. Even if you could do such a thing, I would not want it. The magic you’re using has already upset the balance of this world. Please, you must let this go.”

For a moment, Zuko’s posture began to relax. The hand clutched at his chest began to drop back to his side, and he took half a step toward Iroh… 

And abruptly stopped. 

He stood back up, fiery resolve in his eyes as he reached up and snapped the amulet he had been clutching off its chain. 

“No. I won’t give up.” The amulet rose in the air as Zuko lifted his arms and a red haze began to surround him. “You’ll see, Uncle. I’ll get it right this time.” 

“Zuko, no!” Iroh called out. Magical energy leapt from his empty hands towards the amulet, messy and unfocused without a staff to channel it. 

Several things then happened at once. 

Over the months that followed, Sokka would replay this exact moment in his head again and again, always wondering what he could have done differently. 

Suki jumped up and knocked her prisoner to the ground with both feet, using the momentum of his fall to launch herself towards one of the Venatori mages on the dais who had begun to cast a spell at Iroh. If Sokka had been watching the mages instead of Zuko, would he have seen the attack first? Could he have gotten there faster than Suki? 

At the same time, one of the captured Venatori swordsmen turned and disarmed the distracted Inquisition archer behind him, pulling his opponent in front of him to form a human shield and barrelling toward Katara. Sokka drew his sword and turned to protect his sister. 

If he hadn’t turned away, would he have seen the amulet tear a rift in the air? Would he have seen Aang leap forward? Would he have noticed some important clue about the spell Zuko had cast or the way Iroh’s magic had affected it? 

Sokka knocked the attacker away from Katara, attempting to wedge in his sword and separate the Inquisition archer from the Venatori swordsman without stabbing his ally. From behind him, he heard Iroh cry out in pain, Suki arriving a mere fraction of a second too late to interrupt the attacking spell. 

Katara hurled an attack towards the three remaining mages on the dais and then turned to run towards where Aang and Zuko were positioned near the growing rift and floating amulet. If Sokka had simply trusted Katara to protect herself, perhaps he could have run towards Aang instead. That had been the primary contingency plan, after all. He was closer to the Herald than Katara had been. Could he have pushed Aang out of the way? 

There was a loud cracking sound and a flash of green light. Sokka blinked, the light momentarily blinding. He looked towards the source of the sound. 

Aang, Zuko, and the rift had disappeared. The amulet, no longer glowing, clattered to the ground. 

There was a beat of silence. 

And then the chaos of combat resumed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliff hanger! (Sort of). Buckle up, people. We're about to get into to some serious darkest timeline shenanigans. Brace yourselves. 
> 
> Also! Please feel free to comment and/or pass this along if you know anyone else who might like it. I'm really looking forward to continuing to explore this version of these characters. Both the characters and the setting mean so much to me separately, getting to combine them has been the best kind of adventure.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are unfamiliar with the Dragon Age Games, a list of definitions for the handful of game-specific words used in this chapter can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26193337)

Zuko fell backwards through the rift he had created, landing with a splash onto a hard surface covered in a few inches of tepid water. He felt dizzy and lightheaded. The last time he had used the amulet to cast a spell of this kind he had had several willing Venatori to draw power from. This time the power had all been drawn directly from him. His sanguitor was throbbing, hot needles pressing into him with an ache that went the entire way up his right arm. He blinked and attempted to take in his surroundings, unable to tell at first if the hazy red darkness around him was real or if the blood loss was messing with his vision. 

“What was that? Where are we?” Aang’s voice was harsh against the pounding in Zuko’s head. “Zuko, get up. What did you do?”

Zuko registered the butt end of a staff pressed to his chest and looked up to see the Herald standing above him. There were a few floating spots in his vision, but the light around them remained a dull red. He was sitting on a flooded stone floor, his wet hands sore from scraping against its rough surface. Behind Aang he could make out the vague outlines of a stone ceiling and walls. Red light was coming from somewhere to their left, casting Aang’s features in stark relief. 

“I... I’m not sure.” Zuko moved to sit forward, afraid he would pass out if he stood up too quickly. The water sloshed, his breeches and mantle long since soaked through. “I was trying to cast a spell to take me back to the day I arrived at Redcliffe, but…” 

The details were fuzzy. He shouldn’t have tried to cast that spell alone. It had cost so much of his strength, so much blood. He moved to wipe his forehead, forgetting his hands were wet until after he had smeared damp grime across his face, fingers sticking to disheveled strands of hair. 

“Zuko.” Aang’s voice was calmer now, less demanding but no less firm. “We need to figure out what happened and where we are. You had an amulet and you used it to open some sort of rift. Iroh tried to stop you and I tried to grab the amulet. Next thing I know, we’re… here. Wherever here is.”

Zuko’s memories caught up slowly with Aang’s words--his uncle! Yes, that’s what had happened. His uncle had interrupted the spell. 

He took a steadying breath, preparing himself to stand. “This obviously isn’t the forests outside Redcliffe, nor is it the castle hall. So wherever we are, it’s not--”

Even making sure to do it slowly, standing took an overwhelming toll on Zuko’s exhausted body. His vision narrowed to a pinhole and he stumbled slightly, catching himself on the nearest wall.

Aang moved instinctively forward, reaching out towards Zuko with a steadying hand. 

“You don’t look so good.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Zuko muttered through gritted teeth. “We need to find the amulet. Do you see it anywhere?”

Aang began shuffling his feet around in the water, kicking about as he peered down in. The room they were in was small, only a couple yards across. It opened onto an equally dim corridor, red light shining through the rusted remains of a set of iron bars. 

“I don’t see anything.” Aang called. He swung open what was left of the cell door in front of them. “Looks like we’re in some sort of dungeon.”

Zuko pushed himself off the wall with a grunt. “I’m less concerned about _where_ we are than _when_ we are.”

Aang stopped, turning back towards him with a look of confusion. 

Zuko gestured vaguely in the air. “Time magic, remember?”

“Right.” Aang lifted his staff once again, taking an offensive stance that was undercut by the clear look of concern still on his face. “Well, you’re clearly not in a state to fight me right now, so whatever you’ve done and _when_ ever we are, you’re going to fix it. I don’t want to have to hurt you. Just follow me and we’ll go figure out how to undo all this.”

Zuko didn’t have the strength to do anything but nod, though he knew that it wouldn’t be nearly as simple as the Herald thought. Time magic was volatile even when everything went right--and this? Whatever his uncle had done, it had upset the entire structure of the spell. It would take hours, possibly days, to reverse engineer the specifics of what had happened to them, much less find a way to undo it. Not to mention that, without the amulet, it was all pointless anyways.

But best not to let the Herald know any of that just yet. The longer Aang believed that keeping Zuko alive was important, the better. 

“Can you walk okay? I have some healing magic if it’ll help keep you from slowing us down.”

Zuko shrugged off Aang’s concern. “No, really. I’ll be fine. And healing spells don’t work very well on me anyways. Don’t waste your effort.”

Aang looked at him intently for a moment, a wave of suspicion washing over his face, but he said nothing. Zuko drew the twin swords on his back and stepped past him, into the open corridor. “Let’s go.” 

The corridor was narrow, leading out into another, though much larger, stone walled room. The red light that surrounded them was shining from behind the bars of a cell to the right of the corridor’s exit. When they reached the cell, Zuko heard Aang gasp. He turned to look and was horrified by what he saw. 

The cell was full of large, glowing red crystals jutting out at odd angles and crackling with some sort of magical energy. In the center of the crystals, the broken body of an elderly man was hanging limply, suspended by the enormous shards which surrounded him. His grey, matted hair hung loose over his face, his head slumped forward. 

No, no it couldn’t be--

“Iroh?” Aang’s voice, though low, sent a shock through Zuko’s system. He quickly sheathed his blades and walked to the bars of the cell. 

They had to get him out of there. Was he breathing? How had this happened? Iroh was barely recognizable, his malnourished body a twisted parody of the vibrant, robust man Zuko knew. 

“Uncle, please. It’s me. Please.” Zuko didn’t have time to be ashamed of the panic in his voice or the tears that began to spill from his eyes as he shook the bars of the cell’s door, testing for weaknesses. “Please wake up. Talk to me. What happened? Who did this to you?”

Relief flooded him as Zuko saw his uncle’s shoulders lift slowly, tortuously, to take in a ragged breath. 

“Lu Ten? Is that you?” Iroh’s voice was strange, distorted rather than weak. It had a strange layered quality to it, as if there were several versions of him speaking at once, echoing over one another as if from a distance. “It is finally my time, then? I have missed you, son. Maker, carry me across the void...”

“No, uncle!” Zuko began to pull frantically at the door’s locking mechanism. “It’s me, Zuko. Your nephew. Please, just stay with me.”

“Zuko?” Iroh’s head lifted. His eyes were red, pupils clouded with the same crackling energy which emanated from the crystals surrounding him. There was a large, infected-looking gash across his face, and a few small red crystals were embedded in the wound. 

“Zuko, it is you. You have returned. Thank the Maker!” Iroh continued, his breathing still labored. “And the Herald is with you. I knew this world was never meant to be. Ever since you disappeared, the Veil has continued to disintegrate.”

“Iroh, how long ago was that? Do you know the date?” Aang asked. 

Iroh’s brow contorted, as if thinking through Aang’s question caused him pain. “I’m not entirely sure. It has been at least nine months—a year, perhaps more… Time is difficult to track here.”

“And where are we?”

As Aang continued to ask questions, Zuko pulled a small dagger from where it was strapped to his thigh. His clothes were heavy with water, his cold hands clumsy. He threw off his mantle and knelt to pick frantically at the cell’s lock. 

“We’re in the dungeons below Redcliffe castle,” explained Iroh. “There was much confusion after you left, Aang. I was seriously injured in the fight at the castle, and when I awoke I found myself at an Inquisition camp. Many people believed you were dead. The Venatori began to claim that Zuko had defeated you, destroying the Herald at the cost of his own life. For those first few weeks, Kirima and the circle mages didn’t know what to do--losing my nephew nullified their original agreement. But without the Herald, the Inquisition too was in chaos. Most returned to Haven to regroup, but your closest companions remained and attempted to reason with the mages. Your friends refused to believe you were dead. At least, at first.” 

Iroh began to slump forward again, the red haze in his eyes becoming more opaque. Speaking at length like this was clearly taking a toll on him. Zuko continued to hack at the lock, finally managing to pry the rusting mechanism apart. He swung the door open and rushed to his uncle’s side. 

“Uncle, save your strength. We need to get you out of here.” Zuko reached out, feeling helplessly around the crystals that encased Iroh, searching for an opening with his dagger. 

“No, Zuko. You must listen. It is too late for me, but your return means we still have a chance to make things right.”

It was only then, as Iroh looked up at him, visibly pushing through waves of pain and delirium to catch his nephew’s eyes, that Zuko’s brain finally registered what it was seeing. The glowing shards that surrounded Iroh, the crystals protruding from his facial wound--they weren’t just caging him. 

The crystals were growing out of him. 

_No, no, no..._ “No, Uncle. You can’t just--We’ll find a way to get you out.” Was he crying? Shouting? Zuko couldn't tell anymore. Words just kept on spilling from him. His uncle was sitting there, gaping wounds pierced through by some hellish, inorganic parasite, and all Zuko could do was watch as it leeched his uncle’s life force away.

Iroh was dying. 

“Zuko, you must listen to me.” Iroh did his best to reach towards Zuko, but the large cluster of crystals protruding from his lower abdomen limited his movement. “Just over two weeks after you disappeared with the Herald, Azula arrived. Ozai sent her here with a contingent of Venatori as a backup if you failed. She subjugated the mages easily, turning Redcliffe into a base for Ozai’s operations in Ferelden. She captured the Herald’s companions; I think they are still being held here somewhere.”

Iroh was clearly weakening. His already distorted voice became increasingly fractured and his gaze lost its focus. 

“You have to… stop her.” With each breath, there was an unearthly, almost melodic rattling sound in Iroh’s chest, as if someone was shaking a box full of broken glass. “She’s still here at the castle, in the throne room. And she has the amulet. She cannot be reasoned with--you must destroy her and take the amulet. None of this is as it should be. You must find a way to go back.” 

“I promise, uncle.” Zuko moved into Iroh’s reach, letting a withered, deathly cold hand rest on his cheek. “I’ll fix this.” 

“I know you will.” There was another pause as once again Iroh struggled to take a breath. “There has always been so much good in you. You are capable of so much more than you know.” 

In a movement much quicker than Zuko thought him capable, Iroh suddenly shot out his left hand towards Zuko’s dagger. In one smooth motion, Iroh sliced open his own palm and laid it flat against the enchanted metal of Zuko’s exposed sanguitor. 

Zuko, distracted by the hand on his face and heavy words still ringing in his ears, had no time to react as he felt his strength returning. By the time he realized what was happening and tried to pull away, the spell was complete. Iroh’s bloodied hand fell limp, his body collapsing onto the complex of crystals that had been holding him aloft.

He was dead. 

Zuko recoiled in horror even as his body gratefully accepted the power it had been gifted. With his final act, Iroh had given his nephew all that was left of the strength within him. It was an old magic, the willing sacrifice of one life to preserve another, and it sung triumphantly through his veins even as Zuko’s soul collapsed in grief. 

Iroh was dead. His uncle, the only person who had ever shown him kindness and not expected anything in return, was gone. 

“You two, there! How did you get in here?” a strange voice called from just outside the corridor. “By order of Imperatrix Azula, drop your weapons and stand down!”

The sound cut through Zuko’s numb grief, igniting in its place a blind rage. Zuko barely even registered Aang’s presence as he pushed out of the cell, barrelling towards the intruder with a roar. He drew his swords and called upon the Fade, the power of Iroh’s blood interweaving with his own. 

The jailer was wholly unprepared for the attack that hit him. Elemental magic ripped down from above, wreathing the man in flame even as a sword slashed across his throat. The reek of fresh blood and burning flesh mingled in the air. 

A second Venatori soldier, who had been standing behind the jailer with a bow drawn, loosed his arrow and turned to run. Zuko knocked the projectile aside easily with one sword, the other sweeping up in a mirroring arc as he fired a wave of force magic from its tip. 

The soldier fell with a splash into the water, and almost immediately Zuko was upon him. With no time to draw a weapon, the soldier simply lifted his arms into a makeshift shield, his armored bracers managing to block the worst of Zuko’s first attack. But he was only prolonging the inevitable. Prone and weaponless, the Venatori pawn was no match for Zuko’s unbridled fury. In mere seconds he too was dead, leaking blood into the water only yards away from the disfigured corpse of his superior. 

Zuko whipped his head around, searching for more enemies, but there were none. His connection to the Fade hummed through him, strengthened into a physical thing by the constant, slow draw of blood through the needles of the enchanted gauntlet embedded in his arm. Christened by Iroh’s sacrifice, Zuko’s sanguitor all but audibly spoke to him of the raw power he now had at his fingertips. As always, on the other side of the veil, Zuko could feel rage demons come flocking to his magic. The veil was so thin here, the Fade so close--he could sense despair demons too, and, faintly, a hulking demon of Pride. They whispered to him: promising him revenge, offering the release of oblivion, telling him he had the power to remake this world in his image, if only he would let go. If only he would loosen his grip and let them through… 

The light touch of a hand on his shoulder broke Zuko’s reverie. 

“He’s dead, Zuko. You can get up.”

Zuko blinked at Aang’s voice, looking down to realize he was still straddling the body of the Venatori soldier, one sword still pressed into the mess of blood and water. He stood and took a slow, deep breath, forcing his magic to recede back under some semblance of control. The hand on his shoulder disappeared. 

“We need to find your friends,” said Zuko, choosing not to look back at Aang as he spoke. “Azula is my sister, and she is an incredibly powerful mage. If we’re going to be able to get the amulet away from her, we’ll need all the help we can get. That first soldier back there looked like a jailer; you should go see if he has keys on him. And we should take whatever weapons we can find, too.” 

For a moment Aang was silent, not moving. 

“You know, the Dalish don’t forbid blood magic the way the Andrastian Chantry does,” he said quietly. “Keeper Gyatso taught me that all magic is a tool, only as good or as evil as the person wielding it.” 

There was another pause. Zuko remained silent, wiping the blood from his swords. 

“I’m sorry about your uncle,” Aang added eventually. “If we find the amulet, we can make sure none of this ever happens.” 

Zuko heard splashing sounds behind him as Aang walked back to retrieve the keys and weapons. He waited for the Herald to return before stepping forward into another corridor. They both remained silent as they walked through the flooded dungeon, Zuko refusing to look Aang in the eye. 

***

_You should have seen it coming. You should have been keeping an eye on everyone, paying attention. That’s what you do: you pay attention and make a plan. Aang was doing the talking--you should have been watching the mages._

Sokka sat alone in his cell, back against the wall. The voice in his head was a constant stream of accusation that sang in harmony with the hum of the red lyrium crystals which grew from the dungeon walls. Whether it was his own thoughts or the madness of the corrupted stones, he didn’t know. Any distinction between the two had long since ceased to matter. 

_Hateful mages with scheming eyes, sharp bits of flashing metal announcing each move--how could you have been so blind? And in the end, even after it all, after the Herald was dead, still you chose to stay. Such a pathetic fool you were. There was only one miracle and you lost him. The world had one chance at surviving against the Elder One and you weren’t even looking when the Magister ripped open time and stole him away. And you just sat there, staring for months at the Redcliffe sky, wallowing in your failure. You even had the gall to call it hope. Hypocrite. There are no more miracles._

Faintly, Sokka heard the sound of footsteps on stone. Perhaps the Venatori were going to start feeding them regularly again. At first, he and Katara had been kept relatively healthy. They had watched as others were starved--or worse, were forced to drink water poisoned with red lyrium. Simply being near the stuff for long enough would eventually kill you, but ingesting it accelerated the process exponentially. So Sokka and Katara had sat helpless in their cells as the delirious screams of their allies echoed through the dungeon halls. Death by red lyrium was an excruciating process. Bits of your skin and bones would begin to crystallize and sprout, piercing slowly up through your flesh over the span of months--the lungs and heart were usually the last to go, the parasite waiting until the very last moment to finally kill its host. 

_It’s still a better death than you deserve. They’re coming to poison you, you know. You were only ever useful to them as bait. Now that they have what they want they can just add you to the lyrium farm. At least playing host to red lyrium is something you’ll finally be good at. You’re so weak-willed and malleable, already enamored with our song._

Sokka began to beat the back of his head against the wall he was leaning on, trying to drown out the thoughts. A few weeks ago they’d separated him from his sister, stopped giving them daily rations, and stopped sending guards to taunt them with questions about the remnants of the Inquisition. That could only mean one thing--Imperatix Azula’s men had finally gotten what they wanted. The Venatori had found Suki

_You tricked her into caring about you and it made her vulnerable. She knows things about the Inquisition you don’t--she’s going to be tortured in ways you never were. And it’s all your fault. It’s always been your fault._

_You should have seen it coming. You should have been keeping an eye on everyone..._

Sokka’s head hit the wall at an awkward angle and his horns hit stone, sending a jarring shock of pain the whole way down his spine. For a blessed moment, the downward spiral of blame was interrupted. But as soon as the pain subsided, the thoughts resumed. 

Sokka stopped banging his head and instead tried to shift his focus towards the approaching guards. The sounds were getting closer now, but something was off about them. The footsteps were almost quiet, moving towards him with much less clanking and shuffling than usual.

_Probably because they’re not real. You’re hearing things again. You thought the lyrium was your mother when you got here. You thought you heard her singing all through those first months. Don’t you remember how very easy you are to fool?_

“Sokka! You’re alive!” 

Sokka’s brain recoiled from the sound, disbelieving. It almost sounded like…

“Aang, is that you?” he asked, despite himself. “It can’t be.” 

And yet he saw the Herald standing there, as solid and real as the bars that separated them.

_What a wonderful little fantasy. You love this one, don’t you--this version of the world where you get to ask for forgiveness. You failed. You lost. You can pretend it’s not real, but eventually the illusion will shatter._

“Yeah, that’s what Katara said too.” Keys appeared in Aang’s hand and he began to search for one that fit the cell lock. “I promise, I’m very real. Looks like Iroh wasn’t exaggerating when he said that time magic was unpredictable.” 

_The Herald is dead and it’s your fault. Enjoy this while it lasts if you want. It won’t change anything._

“Yeah, there’s no way you’re real.” Sokka let out a bitter laugh. “But hey. Guess nobody tells you that dying from red lyrium poisoning actually has some perks. A last minute rescue from the Herald of Andraste himself? Best hallucination yet.”

Aang finally found the correct key, turning it with a grinding creak. The lock released and he swung the door open, crossing Sokka’s cell and grabbing his shoulders. 

“I’m not a hallucination. Zuko’s time portal backfired and sent us both forward in time.” Aang sighed. “I don’t exactly know how to prove I’m really here. Do you need me to, like, slap you or something?”

Another laugh boiled up in Sokka’s chest, wry bitterness tinged with an edge of mania. 

“No, no. I’ll leave that for when I hallucinate Suki. No offense, Aang, but I tend to like my guys a bit older and much less gangly.”

He really _was_ gangly. And… wet? Sokka paused, his laughter fading as he took a moment to actually size up this false Herald. Aang’s breeches were soaked, the hems darkened with grime. He had bits of wet gravel stuck to his arms, and for some reason he had a sheathed shortsword haphazardly strapped to his back next to his staff. 

If Sokka was going to dream up a version of Aang--come back from the dead on a golden-horned halla to save them all--this is not at all what he would have pictured. 

_Even your unhinged imagination can’t get it right. Aang was never this young or foolish. He was wise beyond his years, destined to save the world. And you let him die. There was only one miracle and you lost him._

“Sokka, stop this.” Sokka looked up to see Katara standing behind Aang, a red haze around her face and a small chunk of diseased lyrium protruding from her left collarbone. “This is real and the Herald needs our help. He’s giving us a chance to take down Azula.” 

Sokka squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again slowly, one by one. Katara was still there. Aang was still there. So he tried again, this time rubbing his eyes a bit for good measure. But when he looked, his cell door was still sitting open and the two elves were still there staring at him, one with concern, the other with frustration. 

He stood. The easiest way to test whether or not this was all in his head was to just try and walk out of his cell. If it worked, then--dream or not--at least it meant some form of freedom. Worst case scenario, he got to go out in a blaze of glory, taking out as many of those blighted vint whoresons on his way out as he could. 

_Actually, that’s the best case scenario. Worst case scenario, this is all an elaborate psychotic episode and you’ll wake up tomorrow to realize nothing has changed. Nothing ever changes. You were useless from the start and you’re useless now. Reality is pain. Only that which is the most painful can be true. All else is but beautiful lies._

“Fine. Let’s go, then,” Sokka announced. “I’m not saying I’m convinced that any of this is real, but if it’s a dream I might as well get some revenge-fantasy action out of it.” 

Aang looked relieved, but also hesitant. “Speaking of revenge, before we head out, you should know: Magister Zuko is with us too.”

Sokka reached instinctively for a sword he no longer had, instantly on high alert. 

“Perfect. Give me that shortsword, Aang. We can start with him.” 

“No, Sokka,” Aang put a placating hand on Sokka’s arm. “You can’t kill him.”

Sokka let out a laugh. “Oh I’m pretty sure I’ll find a way.”

“No, I mean, we need him. He’s the only one that understands the time magic that sent us here. If I’m going to get back and undo this, we need his help.”

_He’s going to betray you. They always hit you when you least expect it. He might have Aang fooled, but you know better. You know how vints like him think--don’t let your guard down for a moment. You can’t afford to make another mistake. Don’t you remember what they did to your home? Don’t you remember how your mother screamed---”_

“Shut up!” Sokka growled, startling Aang. “I mean--fine. Whatever. I won’t attack the important time traveling vint. Just lets get moving. We have to find Suki.”

Sokka gestured toward Aang, looking meaningfully at the shortsword still strapped to the elf’s back. Aang glanced down the hall behind him before slowly handing Sokka the weapon. Clearly, the Herald wasn’t completely satisfied with Sokka’s promise to refrain from pouncing on Zuko the moment he had a sword. Which, honestly, was pretty fair. Sokka himself wasn’t confident he could avoid attacking once he finally had the Magister in his sights. After all, he’d spent months playing out their last encounter in his head. Hopefully he had enough self control to override those endless days and nights of stewing hatred. Or, at least, hopefully he had enough faith in Aang to trust the elf’s judgement. 

Shortsword finally in hand ( _it feels real and solid, but so did your mother’s caress on your forehead as she sang, a beautiful lie_ ), Sokka moved towards the exit of his cell. He hesitated before crossing the threshold, genuinely afraid that the illusion would break and he’d run headlong into locked iron bars. 

But he didn’t. He walked unimpeded through the open door and into the dungeon hall. Katara sidled up next to him, reaching her arm around his middle in a firm hug. Besides the cracking red haze around her face and a few stray bits of protruding lyrium, she seemed unharmed. She was shoe-less and her clothes were tattered, but she had a bow strapped to her back. 

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she said, voice gaining strength as she looked over to where Aang was standing. “The Herald’s back now. I always knew he would return. He’ll save us all. We’re going to get Suki and we’re going to undo this.”

Sokka glanced down at his sister, uncomfortable with the spark of manic devotion he saw gleaming behind her lyrium-clouded eyes. He hugged her back regardless, tamping down his fear. 

“Yeah, Katara. We’re going to be okay.” 

Sokka released his sister and looked down the dungeon hallway. It was then that he finally spotted Magister Zuko, leaning against a wall near the corridor’s exit. Sokka braced himself, left hand curling into a fist while his right tightened on his sword. He expected to feel the same flood of righteous anger he usually felt whenever his thoughts drifted towards Zuko, this man who had killed Aang and ruined the world. 

But no surge of emotion came. Zukko wasn’t wearing his Venatori robes, and the clothes he was wearing were soaked through with a mixture of water and sludge. He was shorter than Sokka remembered and his tense posture held none of the cocky duplicity Sokka had always pictured on the Magister’s face as he pulled Aang into the rift--though, to be fair, ( _you were looking the wrong way you maker-forsaken fool_ ) he hadn’t actually seen that happen. This Zuko was on edge, dual swords drawn and blood magic gauntlet on full display. He looked less like a powerful mastermind and more like a caged animal--dangerous, but not in the way Sokka expected. Sokka found himself unable to muster much more than a vague sense of distrust towards the man.

Aang was watching them both carefully from the far doorway as Sokka neared where Zuko was standing. He caught the Magister’s eye and for a beat they simply looked at one another, both with swords drawn but neither moving to attack.

Zuko offered the qunari a minute nod of acknowledgement. “Sokka.” 

“Asshole Magister jerk,” Sokka replied flatly, returning Zuko’s gesture with his own quick dip of the head. 

Sokka’s skepticism began to turn inwards on itself as the small party of four moved to continue a sweep of the dungeon. This whole situation was almost too strange _not_ to be real. Red lyrium was insidious stuff, but getting help from Magister Zuko to save Suki and take down Azula? If this was all in his head, Sokka was officially the ultimate champion of batshit hallucinations. And as the paranoid voice in his head was always so quick to remind him, Sokka was never the best at anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Welcome to the darkest timeline. All aboard the suffer train!
> 
> As always, if you've read this and enjoyed it, please leave a comment and/or share it with anyone else you know who might enjoy it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are unfamiliar with the Dragon Age Games, a list of definitions for the handful of game-specific words used in this chapter can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322577)

The dungeon had greatly deteriorated since Zuko had last seen it, but he knew the basic layout well enough to keep the party from getting lost. Only the lower levels of the dungeon had been flooded, but several of the walls were beginning to crumble under the weight of the red lyrium growing throughout. They didn’t pass any more guards, and the only prisoners they saw were either dead or too delirious to be of any help. Katara had explained (once Aang had stopped her from trying to strangle Zuko with her bare hands) that the red lyrium growing here was contagious. It was prone to driving people insane, so the guards largely left infected prisoners alone. 

They were nearing the steps up out of the dungeon and into the castle when they finally heard evidence of activity. Aang motioned for everyone to stop.

“Sounds like it's coming from the dungeon’s armory,” Zuko whispered. “If Suki is being tortured for information, that would be as good a place to do it as any.” 

Next to him, Sokka made a low growling noise in his throat.

“I say we bust in swords blazing,” he hissed. “You and Aang can stay back. If you’re going to undo all of this anyways, then you two are the only ones with something left to lose.” 

Aang didn’t seem very excited about this plan, but neither did he seem keen to argue. 

“Let’s at least try and keep a stealthy approach,” he suggested. “They won’t be expecting intruders, so we should be able to catch them by surprise.” 

Sokka nodded his assent, pushing past Aang to take point on the approach. Zuko fell in step behind, placing himself next to Katara and in front of Aang. 

The sounds coalesced into distinct voices as the group closed in. 

“I vote the stretcher. We never get to use the stretcher,” one voice was saying in a whiny tone. “And you got to pick yesterday.”

“We never pick the stretcher because it's a right bastard to set up,” replied a second voice gruffly. “You spend half the day getting them hooked up to the thing and then you still have to be strong enough to wind it proper or it won’t even work.” 

“But can’t you just imagine how nice she’d look all laid out like that? I’m sure she’d scream real pretty, wouldn’t you, little bird?”

“How about we compromise? She’s already strung up, so let's just lift her a bit and then gravity can do the stretching for us while I use the tongs.” The group was close enough now to hear the sound of heavy chains rattling from the other side of the closed door. “I’ll even let you bleed her a bit. We’ve not done that for a few days so she should be able to handle it.” 

“You hear that, birdie?” the first voice was back again, positively purring. “I could even use some of your blood to magic up superheated fire for the tongs. You’ll power the flames that’ll burn you. It’s pure poetry, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bitches love poetry. We get it. Now shut up and--”

Whatever the Venatori interrogator was about to say was cut off as Sokka burst through the door. From behind him, Zuko could see the room was littered with various weapons and torture devices. One of the Venatori was standing off to the left, bent over a small iron stove while the other was standing near the center of the room, looking up at a woman hanging suspended from a pair of shackles chained to the ceiling. 

The woman--it had to be Suki, though without her face paint and covered in bruises, Zuko didn’t recognize her--had been stripped down to her smallclothes. As soon as the door burst open, her head, which had been hanging limp against her chest, snapped up. The torturer standing next to her turned towards the commotion, and Suki made the most of his distraction. Even before Sokka had crossed the room, she pulled up on her chains, lifting her legs up over her captor’s shoulders to grab him. He was faced away from her, and he stumbled forward in his surprise as her feet crossed down over his chest. She used this momentum to her advantage, pulling her knees swiftly to the left as her thighs clamped down around his head. There was a snapping sound as the man’s head was quickly and forcibly twisted in the opposite direction of his falling body. When Suki released him, he crumpled to the ground. 

Sokka, meanwhile, pivoted towards the Venatori huddled over the open stove. The shortsword looked comically small in the qunari’s large hands, but there was no trace of humor on his face as he tore towards the startled man. The interrogator was well-trained enough to instinctively pull his tongs out of the furnace and use them to block Sokka’s first swing, but he wasn’t wearing any armor and the surprise of the attack had him on the back foot. 

Zuko held Aang back as Katara shot an arrow into the man’s shoulder, knocking him backwards into the stove. The searing hot metal broke his fall and he screamed as it burned into him. Sokka finished him off quickly, driving his sword into the Venatori’s chest with a swift _shlunk_. 

The screaming stopped. 

Sokka stood, leaving the shortsword embedded in the body at his feet while Zuko hurried over to where Suki’s chains were secured. He lowered her slowly, chain links clinking as they passed through the ring bolted to the ceiling. Aang ran over to her with a healing spell ready. He passed the energy cautiously over her many wounds before grabbing his stolen keys and searching for the one that would free her. 

“I’m sure you have questions,” said Aang, glancing between Suki and Zuko. He shuffled slightly to put himself physically between the two as the newest key in his hand finally slid into the lock and opened Suki’s shackles.

“Not really,” replied Suki in a hard, emotionless voice. “We’re going to kill Azula.” 

It wasn’t a question. Aang remained quiet, taken aback by her tone. 

From where he was standing a few paces away, Zuko watched as Suki stood and walked over to the still-warm body of the man who mere moments ago had been fantasizing about the many ways he would bring her pain. Her swollen face was cool and detached as she methodically stripped the corpse. The clothes would be too large, but they were better than nothing. 

“You’ve been gone for just over a year, Herald,” Suki said, voice still eerily even. “When Azula arrived, she subjugated the Free Mages and began to send forces to capture other Ferelden strongholds. The Venatori spread like wildfire as Breach expanded. It wasn’t long before she declared Ferelden a territory of the New Imperium, and herself Imperatrix of the Southern Tevinter empire.”

Suki’s eyes snapped up and locked with Zuko’s, her gaze icy and unflinching, but also bizarrely empty. Unlike Sokka and Katara, her eyes were clear of any hint of red lyrium--but that only made the deadness in them worse. Anger or hatred he could have withstood, but the flat indifference of Suki’s gaze made Zuko deeply uneasy. 

“Your father did this. The Black Divine has been openly leading the Venatori for months now. Though Ozai hasn’t gone by that title since before the Archon was assassinated.”

Zuko held her gaze as she continued to speak of his father, unease giving way to a deep yet aimless buzz of anger and grief. 

“Ozai calls himself the Vessel of the Elder One. Whoever or whatever the “Elder One” entity actually is, the Venatori worship him as a god. He very well may be. The Elder One has power unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and he’s using Ozai to destroy this world. Your father isn’t human anymore--if he ever was.” 

Suki broke eye contact with Zuko, turning to speak with the others. 

“This one was a mage.” she kicked the now disrobed body at her feet. “His staff is over by the door. We should load up--there’s weapons here and some armor. None of it is in great shape, but it’ll have to do.” 

Sokka walked up close to Suki, reaching out an arm. She flinched away from him and dropped her eyes, a quick flash of pain breaking through her otherwise stony expression. Whatever the qunari had been about to say died on his lips. His hand dropped back to his side and he clenched his teeth. 

“Azula has the amulet Zuko used to send us here,” Aang explained, answering questions Suki still hadn’t bothered to ask. “If we can get it from her, we’ll have a chance to use Zuko’s time magic to take us back. We can go back to the day we disappeared and find a way to stop Ozai.” 

“Perhaps you can use the knowledge of this future against him,” Suki replied. “A few months after you died, the Empress of Orlais was killed. The Venatori were behind it. In the chaos that followed, Ozai and the Elder One were able to conquer Orlais with little to no resistance. They summoned an army of demons and decimated everything in their path.”

“An army of demons?” Katara spoke up. “That’s not possible. Demons don’t take orders.”

“These ones do.” Suki left the group and began to search through the weapons in the room. “You’ll probably get to see for yourself soon. We can use the old secret entrances to get the drop on Azula, but she’ll still have slaves, guards, and demons on hand.”

“I can go in the front entrance alone and distract her,” Zuko offered. “She won’t have any reason to attack me on sight. I could buy you some time.” 

Sokka crossed his arms. “Yeah, but you’re Aang’s ticket out of here, right? The rest of us are dead already, but you two need to survive this.” 

“It’s a decent plan, Sokka,” Suki’s voice was a bit softer, but she remained facing away as she spoke. “I’m sure the Magister can take care of himself long enough for us to stage an ambush.”

“This all still sounds a bit too much like a suicide mission,” frustration bubbled up in Aang’s voice. “How about we come up with a plan where no one has to die for me.”

“You’re the Herald,” Katara replied simply. “People have already died for you. Even after you were taken, people fought and died in the name of your memory.” 

Aang’s face crumpled under the weight of her frankness, but Katara remained undeterred. Her lyrium-addled eyes shone up at him with utter devotion, the hint of an awed smile playing at her lips. 

Nearby, Suki strapped a dagger to the belt at her waist and then picked up a bow to test the tension of its string. “If you and the Magister succeed, you go back in time and the three of us--this entire world--will cease to exist. If we fail, we die and the world continues to crumble. Either way, Sokka’s right--we’re already dead.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t… I never--”

Suki cut off Aang’s stuttering, voice flat. “You weren’t here, Herald. You haven’t lived any of this. And if you make it back to where you came from, you won’t have to. But _we have_. So if this turns out to be just a temporary time travel day trip for you--then good. But that won’t take away the year I’ve lived here and the people I’ve watched suffer. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but I’m not going to let you waste their sacrifices because you didn’t give them permission to die. You weren’t here. You don’t get to make that call.” 

For a few moments, no one spoke. The only sound was the rattling of arrows as Suki searched for a usable set. 

“Alright everybody, you heard the lady,” said Sokka, a bit louder than was necessary. “Time to take the fight to the Imperatrix herself. Let’s loot some vints! No offense, Zuko.” 

Sokka and Katara joined Suki, searching for usable weapons while Zuko kept watch at the door. Aang stood alone in the center of the room, looking a bit lost, as he stared down at the mark on his left hand.

***

Zuko entered the throne room at Redcliffe Castle surrounded by a set of five Venatori soldiers. When he had been stopped on his way up from the dungeon, the guards who had found him hadn’t been sure what to do. They clearly recognized him--his scar tended to have that effect--but they were also clearly shocked to find him alive. Apparently, in his absence, Zuko had become a bit of a famous martyr. He didn’t even have to ask to see Azula; the guards began escorting him in that direction right away.. 

Though they had passed a few slaves and occupied barrack rooms, something about the castle still felt strangely empty. Even the throne room, despite the group of people at the far end attending Azula, felt ghostly and devoid of life. Banners bearing the Venatori crest lined both sides of the hall, and a large tapestry bearing the image of a phoenix was hung behind the throne. Dazed looking slaves dressed in simple maroon tunics shuffled about, glazed eyes indicating the presence of some sort of controlling magic. Even from a young age, Azula had been gifted with mind-altering spells--but Zuko was nevertheless surprised to see her practicing forbidden enchantments so openly. 

Azula herself sat on the throne on the dias at the end of the hall. Time magic notwithstanding, it had still been a few years since Zuko had seen his sister last. She was dressed in typical ornate Tevinter fashion, a black robe with golden detailing layered over a tight-fitting set of undershirt and leggings in a deep red. She was thinner than Zuko remembered. Her angular face, which had always tended towards predatory expressions, looked hungry and wild, eyes gleaming at Zuko with feral energy from where she was reclined. 

The Venatori escorting Zuko bowed low to the ground when they reached the dais. In unison they gave a supplicant salute, clasping left hands over their upper right arms and offering the underside of their right wrists forward in a gesture meant to symbolically pledge their blood for the Imperatrix’s use. 

Azula rose from her throne, baring her teeth in an expression that could only technically be called a smile. “So, the sacrificial son has returned from the dead. How, dear brother, have you managed such a thing?”

Zuko paused, unsure of what to say. Azula always made him uneasy. Even here in this future where she was clearly destabilized by repeated use of dark magic, Zuko couldn’t escape the feeling that Azula was already three steps ahead of him. 

“I was never truly dead,” he answered eventually. “I created a rift and traveled through time.” 

The Venatori soldiers, having not been given permission to rise, remained bent low around Zuko, right wrists raised. He could see the one nearest to him begin to quake, the reverential pose a difficult one to indefinitely maintain. 

“How interesting.” Azula began to circle the group, watching Zuko like a cat eying an injured bird. “Well then, let me be the first to welcome you to the New Imperium. Much has happened since the day of your sacrifice.”

Up close, Zuko could see that his sister was wearing his amulet around her neck. Without his help, she wouldn’t be able to use it, but the fact that she had it on her person was going to make getting it back extremely difficult.

“Though,” continued Azula, still pacing, “I suppose ‘sacrifice’ isn’t quite the right word anymore, seeing as you’re not actually dead.” 

She paused, having circled the whole way around Zuko to stand once again at her throne. Her eyes narrowed as she sank back into it, lifting a finger to her lips in feigned contemplation. 

“And if _you’re_ not actually dead, then what of that so-called Herald of Andraste? Perhaps he’s alive too?”

“I don’t think so. My spell was meant to erase him from time.” Zuko did his best to keep his voice even as he spoke, “Sending me forward was an unforeseen side effect.”

“Oh Zuzu, you’ve always been such a terrible liar.” Azula sighed, shaking her head. “Everyone already knows you’re a failure--you’ve been so much more useful to father dead than you ever were alive. And now you’ve managed to fuck that up too.”

She made a dismissive gesture towards the guards around Zuko and they rose as swiftly as they were able, filing up to stand behind her, weapons drawn. 

“Now let's try this again,” Azula called a burst of elemental magic into her hand, small sparks of lightning dancing between her fingers. “What happened to the Herald? And do think carefully before you answer, brother. I’m sure whatever mistake you made, it’s not too late to salvage the situation. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to clean up one of your messes--after all, what is family for?”

“I… I’m not actually sure what happened to him.” Perhaps she would believe him ignorant where she hadn’t believed in his success. “I was trying to go back to my arrival in Redcliffe but the spell was interrupted. Next thing I know, I’m here.” 

Azula balled her hand into a fist, snuffing out sparks that had been idling there. She then splayed her fingers, palm out, and immediately the handful of slaves that had been moving about the hall froze in place with unnatural precision. Some stopped mid-step, another halted so abruptly a few grapes fell off of the tray she was holding. 

“So the Herald could be alive, then. Was that so hard to admit?” Azula gestured at the slave closest to her, a human man of slight build, and he turned and approached her throne while the rest of the slaves remained completely still. “If we work together, we can still fix this. But I need you to be completely honest with me.”

Zuko watched as the slave approached Azula. Human slaves were rare in the Imperium, and now that his attention had been drawn to it, he realized that the slaves frozen in place around the hall were a roughly even mix of elves and humans--in his peripheral vision he even thought he spotted a dwarf, but he dared not turn his head to get a better look. On a table next to Azula, the remnants of a few pieces of fruit sat on a tray with some discarded cutlery. The slave lifted the tray and turned, coming to stand just below the dais as Azula continued to speak from her lounged position on the throne.

“You’re an open book, Zuzu. I can tell you’re hiding something from me--but what I can’t figure out is why. Father was so proud when he heard you’d destroyed the Herald and scattered the Inquisition. As long as the Herald stays dead, I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic to welcome you back to his side. You have no idea the power the Elder One has granted him. We aren’t just heirs to the New Tevinter Imperium--you and I are the children of a God.”

At this, Azula stood and lifted her hands in the air. The mindless slave before her took a knife off the tray he was holding and in a sudden, swift motion stabbed it directly into his own throat. There was a terrible wet choking sound as blood began to pour from the wound. He collapsed to his knees, tray clattering to the floor, as the gush of blood began to swirl in the air. A dark energy crackled from Azula’s lifted fingertips, mingling with the haze of blood, and the floor around the still-dying slave began to quake. 

Zuko took several instinctive steps backwards as a loud hissing sound like steam escaping a geyser split the air. Up from the bloodied ground before the crumpled slave rose the large insectoid figure of a terror demon. It threw its clawed hands wide, spiny tail whipping out as it tilted back its head in a roar.

Azula remained where she stood, flanked from behind by armed Venatori, while dark energy crackled down her arms. Next to her, the terror demon fell into a crouched position, facing toward Zuko with its distorted mouth of jagged teeth open in a permanent, silent scream. 

“Now, then. Third time’s the charm.” Azula’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Where is the Herald?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm a bit proud of how scary darkest timeline Azula gets to be. 
> 
> As always, thanks so much to the few (couple?) of you who are keeping up with this fic! Comments and shares are extremely appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Dragon Age terms for this chapter can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26445814)

Sokka stood with Suki in an alcove behind one of the large Venatori banners, watching for the best moment to strike. Their hiding spot was cramped, but even in this small space Suki was holding herself taught as a bowstring, bent as far away from him as possible. 

_She’s right to distrust you. Everything that’s happened to her since you were captured is your fault. They may not have broken her completely, but they sliced out the things that made her precious, all the things that made her a person. You did this. You made her this way. And who’s to say? You’ve lost enough of your mind already. If she gets too close with a weapon in her hand, you might just snap and snuff out what’s left of her._

Sokka wanted so badly to reach out to Suki. He had been so relieved to find her alive--to actually see her in person after so long. But outside of the vague desire to just say _something,_ he couldn’t fight the running commentary in his head long enough to form specific words. 

“...You have no idea the power the Elder One has granted him,” Imperatrix Azula was still speaking with Zuko, her voice raising. 

They would have to make their move soon. Katara and Aang were hiding on the opposite side of the hall, waiting for a signal from Suki to attack. 

“We aren’t just heirs to the New Tevinter Imperium--you and I are the children of a God.”

Suki notched an arrow, drawing back her bow at the same moment that the man near the Imperatrix shoved a knife into his own throat. Sokka gripped his sword tight, a startled intake of breath escaping his lips as a terror demon appeared from the ground where the dead man fell. He flicked his eyes over to Suki, but she remained unfazed, still poised with her arrow drawn back.

“Now then,” the Imperatrix began to step closer to Zuko as she spoke. “Third time’s the charm. Where is the Herald?”

As soon as Azula had stepped past the terror demon at her side, Suki let her arrow fly. It shot forward past the Venatori banner they were hidden behind, directly toward the Imperatrix. Azula’s reflexes kicked in just in time for her to angle herself so that the arrow struck into her shoulder rather than the chest. 

“Traitor!” she screamed at Zuko, forced a few steps back by the projectile now sticking out of her shoulder. “You don’t understand what you’re turning down.” 

Two more of Azula’s frozen attendants dropped to the ground, convulsing as blood poured from their mouths and noses to power her spells. 

Suki jumped out from the hidden alcove as soon as her shot was free. She stowed her bow mid-stride, drawing two daggers and running towards the Imperatrix with the same mindless single-focus as the arrow she had loosed. Sokka leapt out with a growling roar. On the opposite side of the room, Katara and Aang appeared as well. Katara shot out a broad sweep of conjured ice shards from her stolen staff as Aang moved to engage Azula from range. Zuko drew his swords and the terror demon pounced. 

It was absolute chaos. The four Venatori--two mages, two wielding swords--jumped into the fray. Sokka had only a split second to decide where to charge. Suki was already closing in on the Imperatrix while Katara and Aang moved to offer supporting fire from range. 

“Barriers!” shouted Zuko. “Get your barriers up!”

The terror demon and all of the Venatori soldiers seemed focused on Zuko--if they lost the magister, Aang lost his ride back to the past. Sokka ran to where the terror demon was closing in, managing to land a full two-armed strike at the creature’s exposed back as he slid around into the open space behind Zuko. A shimmer appeared in the air around them as the magister lifted a magical barrier. 

“Stay close,” he ordered Sokka, blocking a claw attack with one sword and then pivoting to knock away the demon’s whipping tail with another. “Azula’s blood magic will drain you if you’re not protected.” 

“Noted.” Sokka stood with his back to Zuko, ready to defend against the two Venatori headed their way. “You focus on the demon. I’ve got these guys.” 

Sokka was accustomed to fighting with Katara, so he could tell pretty easily where the subtle, shimmering limits of Zuko’s barrier were. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, stance ready. Let them come. 

The first Venatori charged at full speed. Sokka blocked his swing off to the left, getting in a glancing blow to the man’s flank as his momentum forced him to the side. The second attacker came in low, wary of getting too close to the demon. Sokka stepped just out of range and the soldier’s swing went wide. Behind him, he felt Zuko surge forward, so Sokka followed, turning his dodge into a pivot, sword ready to block. 

“Tail!” Zuko shouted. Sokka lifted his weapon, blocking the attack just in time. He swung out towards one of the demon’s arms, cutting into the vulnerable joint in an otherwise protected keratin limb. The demon howled in pain, swiping out a claw. 

Zuko stepped in to protect Sokka’s now-exposed back, sending out a wave of force magic towards the Venatori. The enemy swordsmen struggled to keep position, not wanting to risk entering the screeching monster’s reach. 

Sokka had fought against Tevinter battlemages and he’d faced a few slavers who used blood magic--but he’d never seen anyone fight like Zuko. Battlemages were trained to engage in close quarters; but even when modified into a glaive, mages still tended to treat staffs primarily as foci and only secondarily as melee weapons. Zuko’s style, conversely, was aggressively physical. His swords were melee weapons only, the blood magic gauntlet on his arm powering his magic attacks. He was vicious and unrelenting, a constant rain of fire and force spells striking in tandem with the double bite of his twin blades. 

“Claw on your right!” Sokka shouted, ducking. He heard Zuko block the slash as a potshot lightning attack from one of the mages up on the dais broke through Zuko’s barrier, sending a shock of pain down Sokka’s side. He pushed through the sting of it easily--it was refreshing, almost. After such a long time alone with the voices in his head, the intense sensation was wonderfully concrete. It gave him even sharper focus as he dove for the demon’s underbelly, stabbing up into the space between the monster’s interlocking exoskeletal plates. 

The attack hit home, almost wrenching Sokka’s sword from his hand as it stuck fast into the demon’s flesh. He yanked his weapon back and again the demon howled, the vibrations of the sound sending tremors down Sokka’s body. The demon lifted its claws, but instead of attacking, it phased down into the ground and disappeared. 

And just like that, the monster was gone. 

Sokka _hated_ when terror demons did that. For a being of pure magic, terror demons had a particularly imposing physical form. Their tough exoskeletons and thin, fast-moving limbs made them difficult to injure if you didn’t know exactly where to aim. It just wasn’t fair that on top of all that they could also randomly decide to ignore the laws of physics and just disappear down into a solid surface. 

“On your left!” Zuko warned. 

Sokka let out a growl of frustration as he turned. His grip and stance were still off in the aftermath of the terror demon's disappearing act, so his block was only partially effective. The Venatori’s sword was knocked away from Sokka’s ribs but still managed to slide down past his weak parry and catch him in the thigh. Bright, burning pain lit up Sokka’s entire left leg as he quickly backed out of his enemy’s reach. 

Instantly, Zuko was there to cover Sokka’s minor retreat. He sent out a spray of magical fire, followed quickly by a sword attack. Too busy dodging the fire to prepare for the swords, the Venatori who had injured Sokka was knocked to the ground by Zuko’s assault. He cried out in surprise and pain as he fell, blood soaking up through his tabard from where Zuko’s twin swords had broken through the weak points in his armor. 

It was all the distraction Sokka needed to gather himself and charge back in at the second Venatori. He could tell already that the injury to his leg was substantial, but none of the major muscles seemed severed so he could still maneuver well enough. 

He came up from behind where Zuko had landed, covering the magister’s blind spot as he swung his sword towards his target. Bits of the soldier’s clothing were still smoldering as Sokka brought down a mighty, two-handed slash. The brute force of it broke through the man’s attempt at a defense and Sokka felt the satisfying impact as his sword cut into the vulnerable slot at the base of the soldier’s neck between his helmet and breastplate. 

Sokka could feel Zuko behind him, preparing to call some sort of large spell down on the two mages up on the dais. Without the terror demon in the way, he could see Suki locked in close combat with Azula, supported by a mix of barriers and spell attacks from Katara and Aang. They hadn’t gained much ground yet, but neither had they lost any. If he and Zuko could keep picking off Azula’s allies while the other three kept her busy, they might actually have a chance at winning this. 

“Can you charge?” Zuko’s voice was strained as magical energy continued to gather around him. 

Sokka glanced down at the slash in his thigh. It throbbed and was bleeding, but--whether through adrenaline or lyrium or both--his leg held strong, supporting his full weight. 

“Yeah.” Sokka approached the limit of Zuko’s barrier, sword ready. “You call the fire, I’ll take care of the decapitating.” 

The energy building around Zuko, in part generated by the magister himself, in part drawn from the freshly dead corpses as their feet, was reaching a saturation point. Standing this close, Sokka could feel the arcane energy about to burst forth towards the enemy mages, when--

There was a terrible screech and the ground below them suddenly gave way. The terror demon that had disappeared earlier erupted from beneath their feet, interrupting Zuko’s spell and knocking both of them backwards. The barrier around them fell and the gathered magical energy dissipated harmlessly back into the fade, its momentum instantly negated. 

The pain in Sokka’s leg intensified exponentially as he fell backwards. By the time he hit the ground it had spread through his entire body. He cried out--the pain was so intense he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t even see. It was like he was boiling from the inside out. All thoughts of combat fled, all awareness of danger, all fear, any sense of self preservation--everything melted in the face of the all-consuming agony that wracked him. 

And then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain disappeared. Sokka looked up, his mind once again able to make sense of the world around him now that the pain was gone. A familiar magical barrier was shimmering above him, much more solid than the one he had been sharing with Zuko. It sputtered and crackled, momentarily opaque as the claws of the terror demon bounced off its surface. 

_Katara._ His sister’s familiar magic embraced him, protecting him both from the terror demon and from the horrid thrall of Azula’s blood magic. He raised his sword to block the demon’s onslaught, lessening the strain on Katara’s barrier as he looked around. Zuko had to have been knocked in the opposite direction when the demon reappeared. It was a good thing Katara had been paying attention. But if Katara was protecting him, who was protecting--

Suki’s voice rang out in a piercing cry of agony. 

Sokka turned toward the sound. Where mere seconds ago Suki had been locked in a close battle of blows with the Imperatrix, daggers clashing against raw dark magic, she was now crumpled helplessly on the ground. The veins in her arms and legs pulsed a sickly, corrupted black. 

Azula stepped forward, the aura of her power expanding around her, easily engulfing the small blasts of energy Aang continued to send toward her. She knelt to where Suki was huddled, screams having given way to croaking moans and pleading whimpers. Azula reached out and grasped Suki around the throat, lifting her into the air as tendrils of magic swirled between them. 

Suki’s whimpers resolved themselves into broken phrases.

“Blessed are… the righteous… lights in the shadow,” she recited. “In their blood, the Maker’s will… is written.” 

Azula let out a harsh, cackling laugh in response, tightening her grip. 

“The Maker is dead. Your blood belongs to _me_.” 

A slight shimmer appeared around Suki. Sokka looked over to where Zuko was sitting crouched over a dead Venatori mage. His hands were covered in blood, most likely from the mage he had just killed, and he was channeling that energy toward Suki, attempting to break his sister’s hold. 

The weak barrier lasted only for a moment, but a moment was all Suki needed. With a yell, she thrust a single dagger forward toward Azula’s chest. 

But instead of stabbing, she flicked the dagger to the side at the last moment, breaking the chain around the Imperatrix’s neck. The amulet-- _Zuko’s_ amulet--dropped into Suki’s waiting hand. As Zuko’s barrier finally winked out completely, Suki lifted her legs and kicked out, pushing off of Azula with her feet and propelling herself backwards out of reach. As she landed, Katara’s barrier around Sokka disappeared only to instantly reappear around Suki. 

Azula let out a terrible scream of anger that reverberated through the hall in a way eerily reminiscent of the roars of the terror demon. 

Sokka blocked yet another claw attack and then turned to run towards Zuko while the Imperatrix was distracted. He positioned himself defensively on the dais between Zuko and the demon that trailed him. 

He was now only a few feet away from Suki, who was retreating as she drew her bow. Several small vessels in her right eye had burst, turning the white of that eye a violent red, and the exposed skin of her arms was still unnaturally translucent, blackened veins spread throughout like ghostly latticework. 

She tossed the amulet to Zuko as she passed. 

“Take the Herald and get out of here. We’ll hold her off as long as we can.” 

Behind them, Azula’s scream of anger died down. The few attendants who were still standing collapsed as the blood from the many corpses now littering the room began to rise in the air, drawn to the Imperatrix. She raised her arms, the reserves of her power bolstered by her rage. 

Zuko stowed the amulet and looked up toward Sokka, pausing as if awaiting permission. They both knew that without Zuko’s barrier, the qunari wouldn’t survive long. Sokka gave a quick, silent nod, mouth set in a grim line. Zuko nodded back, expression equally grim, and immediately took off in a sprint toward the Herald. 

***

Zuko’s mind was spinning as he darted towards Aang. With only Katara to hold the barriers, Suki and Sokka wouldn’t last long against Azula. He had the amulet, but he would need time to figure out how to undo the spell that had sent him here. 

Behind him, he could hear Suki and Sokka battling the terror demon. There was a roar as Zuko closed in on Aang--death throes of the monster, hopefully, but he didn’t have time to look back and check. 

“We have to go. Now.” Zuko grabbed Aang’s arm, trying to pull him towards the room's exit.

Aang held his ground, eyes on Katara. 

“No,” he protested. “They need us. They’ll die if we don’t--”

“Suki was right. They’re already dead. You can stop this and you can save them but you have to come with me. _Now_.” 

Zuko pulled Aang’s arm again and this time the young elf relented. Zuko focused on keeping a barrier up around the both of them as they ran. If they could get to the other side of the door and barricade it, maybe Zuko could activate the amulet and send them at least part of the way back. Wherever and whenever they ended up, he’d have the amulet this time so maybe then he’d be able to figure out how to actually undo his original spell. 

Funny, that after all of his work to become its master, the one thing he wouldn’t have enough of when it counted was _time._ His uncle would almost certainly have something pithy and vaguely spiritual to say about this--

His uncle. 

His uncle who was dead, who had died in agony, whose blood even now was--

 _No._

He had to go back. Failure wasn’t an option. 

Zuko and Aang were just about to reach the large open doorway of the throne room when thick, heavy doors slammed shut in front of them with a resounding _thud_. 

“NO!” Azula’s voice rang out, unnaturally loud. 

Zuko turned to see her, floating towards them, suspended just above the ground on dark wisps of wild magic. Azula had always been powerful. Even before she began to augment her training with blood magic and other rituals, her natural connection to the fade was infamous. She was a prodigy. 

But this? This was something completely different.

The murky coils that surrounded her coalesced into a double set of long, distorted arms. The shadow shape of some misshapen tangle of limbs--four spindly arms with over-sized hands, a pair of legs with monstrously dislocated knees extending up and folded back on themselves, spider-like--followed behind Azula, lifting her up. She floated on pure magic, her black hair loose in tangled strands across her face. 

“You don’t get to survive this, brother!” Azula’s voice was still too loud, echoed by the magic surrounding her. “You should have died in that ritual you ruined as a child. You should have died with Lu Ten in Seheron. You should have died when your time spell went wrong.”

The dark shape behind her continued to gain definition as she raved. It was clearly a creature of some sort, a demon pressing itself toward Azula through the veil, feeding on her splintering control. 

“You should be dead! You don’t get to take this from me. I won! Do you hear me? I beat you!” her screams were desperate now, the force of her magic beginning to create cracks in the ceiling above them. “Why won’t you just die!? After everything I’ve done, I deserve this. I’m better than you in every way. You don’t get to win!”

Her voice was cracking now, tears streaming down her face. Her assertions sounded petulant, even to Zuko--as if she was trying to convince herself they were true. Zuko sheathed his swords, grabbed Aang, and dove behind a pillar. As Azula’s voice fractured, the dark shape behind her gained definition. 

It was an Envy demon. And it was overpowering her. 

“She loved you and it wasn’t fair!” Azula’s voice was doubled now, layered underneath with otherworldly, demonic tones. “I’m better than you. I always have been. She should have loved me!”

There was a horrible cracking sound and an anguished cry. Zuko braced himself against the pillar he and Aang were sheltered behind. His sister was turning into an abomination--he should look, try to stop it somehow, but--

The terrible cacophony rose, the crunch of breaking bone and grotesque, fleshy ripping sounds were overlaid with the almost childlike screams of Azula as she mutated--his sister, a girl begging for the love and affection she saw others give and receive, but had never felt herself. 

It was too much. Zuko reached for his amulet, clutching it tightly to his chest. The carefully structured enchantment within it was familiar and comforting. He could sense the spaces where Azula’s magic had attempted to infiltrate and unlock its secrets. He could also feel the echo of the spell he had been trying to channel through it when he accidentally shot himself forward in time. Azula’s attempts to unlock the amulet had preserved the remnants of his spell--she had been so close to unraveling his mistake. 

Zuko closed his eyes tight, shutting out everything around him as he focused on the amulet. There was some third presence there, something soft and warm. It was comforting beyond mere familiarity, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. 

Except… 

It felt like Iroh. As soon as he had the thought, everything clicked in place. Outside of demonic deals, a willing life sacrifice was the most powerful of all blood magic. The power that had revived him back in the dungeon was still there, sustaining him. _Iroh_ was still sustaining him, and the power his uncle had transfused into his sanguitor was responding to something in the amulet. Zuko didn’t know what his uncle’s interference had done to the spell he had meant to cast, but perhaps he didn’t have to. Perhaps the resonance between the blood of Iroh’s dying act and the memory of Iroh’s magic trapped in the amulet would be enough. 

Behind them, Zuko heard a crash as part of the cracking stone ceiling above them collapsed. Banquet tables were upturned as the monster hurled chunks of broken stonework and debris towards where Aang and Zuko were hiding. 

“We can’t stay here,” Aang shouted into his ear over the din. “Should we try to bust through the doors?”

Zuko kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, focused on the amulet in his hand. He didn’t like that he’d probably end up casting this spell on pure instinct, but it’s not like careful planning had ever been his strong suit either. 

“No,” Zuko opened his eyes and tried to get a look past the pillar to the dais, “We need to get back to the place where I cast the first spell. Up next to the throne.” 

Katara, Sokka, and Suki were still up towards that end of the room. Suki was firing arrows at the Envy abomination while Katara and Sokka were busy trying to find cover from the debris falling around them. 

The abomination itself was standing near the center of the room, surrounded by wreckage. Azula’s transformation had set off a magical explosion and the monster was standing in its epicenter. Zuko couldn’t bear to look at it for very long. It was tall and thin like a terror demon, its head nearly touching the ceiling even while slightly crouched. Its skin was pale and misshapen, joints bending inhumanly, flesh stretched over its warped frame. It had two sets of arms, one larger than the other, and a thick, elongated neck that whipped around almost snakelike. But worst of all, at the end of that deformed neck, the monster still had his sister’s face. 

“Are you sure?” asked Aang, eyeing the opposite side of the room. “We’ll be pretty exposed up there. I thought the whole point was for us to just escape.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s too late now. If we try and bust our way through those doors, that _thing_ will just chase us.” Zuko paused, mentally planning a route to the dais. “We’re not going to get any time to do this carefully. Our best chance is to sprint back up there and throw everything we’ve got into one big spell. I don’t think we’ve got any other choice at this point.” 

Aang nodded, grabbing his staff and casting a quick barrier around them both. 

“Okay. You run, I’ll follow.” 

Zuko kept his swords sheathed, holding the amulet in his hand as he turned and began to run. The abomination screamed its terrible, inhuman scream when it saw them. Stones and bits of splintered chairs were hurled towards them. The monster then crouched for a moment before springing forward, covering almost half the length of the room in a single leap. 

Aang sent out a blast of arcane energy towards the monster’s face as they ran. Up on the dais, Suki was still firing off arrows and Katara was preparing to send out another ice spell. 

When they reached the dais, Zuko dove behind the throne, taking cover. In his peripheral vision, he saw Sokka charge the fiend with a roar, broadsword raised. 

“We’ll hold it off as long as we can!” he heard Suki yell. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it now!”

Zuko took a deep breath. The first time spell had taken so much out of him. This one might actually kill him. 

“When the rift appears, jump through it,” he ordered Aang. “Don’t wait for me.”

Not giving the elf a chance to reply, Zuko lifted the amulet and began to channel the spell. The amulet responded to his power, enchanted as it was with the echo of the time magic Zuko had used in the past. Zuko threw everything he had left into the spell, burning through Azula’s tampering. He could feel the magic draining him even as he saw a rift begin to form. His sanguitor burned, drawing more and more blood. 

Zuko’s vision began to blur, but he held on, focusing on that small feeling of safety and familiarity he had sensed earlier. His uncle’s blood was still in him, and the essence of Iroh’s sacrificial, selfless act was still there, made tangible by the magic that had bound them. Zuko let everything else fall away and held onto that sensation as the spell took form. Iroh had said it himself--this future was not meant to be. It never had been. His uncle had always been right, even when Zuko was too proud to see it. His uncle had always been able to call him home. 

The rift opened and Aang grabbed Zuko’s arm, pulling him towards it. Zuko saw the Herald jump through and he did his best to do the same, even as his weakened legs gave way beneath him. 

There was a flash of green light, and then everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going for some face-stealer vibes with the Envy demon. If you've never played the Templar quest in DA:I (be honest--you sided with the mages. Everyone sides with the mages), [this](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/dragonage/images/4/41/DAI_Creature.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20140814000630) and [this](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/10/b6/ed/10b6edf7635f1681d153dd0802c34a6d.jpg) is what an Envy demon looks like. 
> 
> Managed to get some swordbro moments in there, even in the darkest timeline. Hope this huge action set piece was fun to read! It was pretty stressful to write. 
> 
> Oh, and if you're on tumblr, I just joined as avatarinquisitor. Look me up!  
> As always, thanks to the handful of you that are keeping up with this. Comments are life.


	6. Chapter 6

Zuko was cocooned in warm, inky darkness. The world was fuzzy and far away. He was vaguely aware that he was in pain, but even that was abstract and distant, a fact he could hold at arm’s length and simply observe rather than experience. 

“ _Well we can’t just leave him here_ ,” a voice was speaking, too remote to be bothersome. It was a male voice, young and vaguely familiar. 

“ _Actually, I’m pretty sure we can._ ” Another male voice, deeper--and for some reason, more clear than Zuko had expected. He’d heard another version of this voice somewhere, distorted somehow. Did that even make sense? Best not to ask too many questions. His safe bubble of black nothingness might burst if he started asking questions.

“ _Sokka, you don’t understand. He saved my life._ ”

“ _Yeah, from danger he put you in by fade-napping you!_ ” 

A new voice entered the conversation, gruff and slightly strained. “ _Please, Herald. You have to bring my nephew with us. We will go as prisoners if necessary. We are no longer safe with the Venatori. I won’t leave without him.”_

Uncle! He was alive! Relief and confusion warred within Zuko from where he had retreated, deep into the back of his own mind. Of course his uncle was alive. Why wouldn’t he be? And yet, it was such a relief to hear his voice. Some part of Zuko had been convinced he’d never get to hear Iroh’s voice again. But why? 

None of this made any sense. Thinking too hard made his arm hurt--made everything hurt. If he kept thinking, he’d get too close to the pain. He’d start feeling again. That didn’t sound like a good idea at all. 

“ _We’re bringing him and that’s final._ _Katara, can you wake him up? Get him on his feet?”_

“ _He’s spent too much blood,”_ Uncle was speaking again. “ _Traditional spells won’t treat this. He needs his vials--I can show you where they are.”_

“ _Alright. Let's get out of here. Sokka, you carry him.”_

_“Why me? What if we get attacked and I can’t use my sword because I’ve got two arms full of useless vint?”_

_“You’re always bragging about your muscles. Now shut up and put them to good use. Just pretend you’re showing off for Kirima.”_

More grumbles followed and Zuko was distantly aware of himself being lifted off the ground. The warm, floating sensation of being carried pleased him. It fit well with the way his mind was drifting, aimless in darkness. More sounds were happening around him, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to care. 

The darkness was soft and warm, so he let it embrace him. 

***

The next time Zuko awoke, the world was significantly less hazy. His arm and head both ached horribly. He tried to push everything away and retreat back into himself, but this time the pain wouldn’t obey him. It was bright like a fire, illuminating the inky darkness where he had been sleeping and refusing to be ignored. 

He let out a small groan, becoming more aware of his body and its surroundings as the pain dragged him up out of unconsciousness. He was lying flat on a cot of some sort, and he could feel the rough texture of a thin blanket covering his lower body. Without thinking, he tried to reach up and grasp his aching head. 

This turned out to be a very big mistake. 

Zuko let out much more than a small groan this time as the pain in his right arm exploded. 

“No, Zuko. Do not try and get up.” His uncle’s gentle voice cut through the hurt, and Zuko felt the light pressure of a familiar hand on his chest. “Rest. We’re back in the Inquisition camp. We are safe, at least for now. Recover your strength.” 

Zuko still hadn’t opened his eyes. He dared not risk making his headache worse. He felt cold and disoriented, from blood loss, he realized, as the memories of his fight against Azula began to come back to him. When he tried to speak, all that came out was a short string of muffled nonsense.

“Shh… Hush, nephew. You need to rest.”

The hand on his chest remained where it was, a warm, comforting weight, as another came up to brush his forehead gently. Zuko couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him in such a tender, careful way. He had never received much by way of physical affection as a child, and when his mother died, even that small amount was reduced to nothing. 

In his weakened state, far too tired and in too much pain for his pride to rear its ugly head, Zuko let himself lean into the comfort of his uncle’s touch. The hazy memories of the future he and the Herald had only just escaped were kept at bay as Zuko worked to slow his breathing. His uncle was alive and they were both safe. For now, that could be enough. 

***

“But Aang, he’s a malificar!” Katara said, volume raising with each new protest. “You have no idea what he’s capable of!”

Sokka stood a few feet away from his sister, leaned against a tree with his arms folded as she paced back and forth in front of the Herald. The sun had set during their walk back to the Inquisition’s main camp. A handful of torches perched on stakes were lit throughout the small assembly of tents, offering just enough ambient light to see now that the main central fire had burned out. 

“He almost died trying to save me,” replied Aang, standing still as Katara paced. “You saw him. I don’t think he expected to survive that time spell.”

“I would once again like to point out,” Sokka interjected, lifting a finger in the air for emphasis, “that, technically, he only had to save you because he was the one that put you in danger in the first place.”

“Still,” countered Aang. “He was completely ready to sacrifice his life to save mine. He risked everything to undo his mistake. That has to count for something.”

Katara stopped pacing and crossed her arms in front of Aang.

“It already has counted for something. You returned the favor and saved him from the Venatori when you could have just left him to die. Debt paid.” She paused to sigh. Her voice grew softer as she continued, but her expression remained grim. “I’m sorry Aang, it’s just… You’ve never been to Tevinter. You don’t know what it can be like there--especially for elves. The whole country is corrupt. Magisters like Zuko only ever use their power to protect themselves. I’ll admit that I can’t tell yet what his endgame might be, but there’s no way we can trust him.” 

“I’m not asking you to trust him, I’m asking you to trust me,” Aang replied, reaching to place a hand on Katara’s shoulder as he offered a small, hopeful smile. “I mean, that seems to be working out pretty okay so far, right? I might not exactly know what I’m doing, but I don’t think I’ve steered us too horribly wrong yet. At least, as long as you don’t count that time I got us super lost and we ran into that ravine full of bears. But, like, how did those bears even get there? And why were there so many of them? There wasn’t even a stream at the bottom of those cliffs or anything.”

Katara stayed silent, but Sokka could tell that her resolve was starting to melt under Aang’s increasingly nervous rambling. 

Suki, who hadn’t yet joined the conversation, stood up and stretched. 

“How about a compromise,” she suggested. “Iroh already offered to act as our prisoner, and the Magister is still out cold. We don’t have to decide what to do with them right away, so I say we wait till Zuko is awake and let him make his case. Once we sort things out with Kirima and the Free Mages, we can decide what to do about the Tevinters before we head back to Haven. And in the meantime, we can post a couple guards outside their tent for good measure.” 

“Works for me.” Sokka pushed himself up off the tree he had been leaning on. “It’s getting pretty late anyways, and it’s been a long day. We could all use some rest.”

Aang pulled his hand off of Katara’s shoulder and let both arms fall limp at his side. “You guys don't know the half of it. I feel like I could sleep for a century.” 

Even in the low light, Sokka could pinpoint the exact moment when Katara’s stubbornness gave way. She uncrossed her arms and her posture lost its rigidity as a touch of fondness snuck into her gaze.

“You can’t do that, Aang,” she admonished. “Who would make Sokka’s favorite oatmeal breakfast?”

Aang let out a small, tired huff of laughter at that, clearly relieved to have Katara joking with him again. Sokka tried to dramatically roll his eyes at his sister, but she either didn’t see him or just decided to ignore it.

The small group began to disperse towards their individual tents, Suki splitting off to speak with the Inquisition soldiers and set up a guard rotation at the tent where Iroh and Zuko were recovering. Sokka waited for her near the entrance to her tent. He did his best to look casual and nonthreatening, but without anywhere to sit or anything to lean on he started to worry that he might look as awkward and nervous as he felt. Luckily, Suki was there to put him out of his misery before he had too much time to stew. 

“Can I help you, Sokka?” Suki asked as she approached, quirking up an eyebrow.

“Yes… er, well, maybe,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous motion more evocative of Aang than of Sokka’s typical bravado. “Can we talk inside?”

Suki’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she gestured for Sokka to enter her tent nonetheless. 

“This better not be some weird ploy so you can go back to Haven, tell your little mercenary tribe that you’ve seen the inside of my tent, and then wiggle your eyebrows suggestively,” she warned, leaning down to light a small lamp at the foot of her cot. 

Sokka let out a nervous chuckle. 

“No, no. It’s nothing like that,” he assured her. “In fact, I was going to ask Aang about this, but the kid just seemed so tired.”

Suki pulled out a small folding stool and set it up for Sokka before turning to sit on the edge of her cot. Sokka sat down quickly, grateful to be able to take up less space in the tiny enclosure. Inquisition tents just weren’t built with qunari mind. 

“So, what’s up?” Suki pulled a small box of small jars and rags up onto her lap as she spoke, dabbing one of the rags into a jar before bringing it up to wipe her face. 

“Well I guess I’m not exactly sure how to phrase this, but...” Sokka paused, looking around the interior of the tent as if the end of his sentence was hiding somewhere in the nearby shadows. “When Aang and Zuko first came back through the rift, there was a moment there where I thought I saw something… strange. We were still fighting the Venatori and it didn’t last long, but I guess I was just wondering if you saw something too?”

“Hmm,” Suki’s eyes stayed trained on the small mirror set into the inside of the open lid of her box of cosmetics. “Now that you mention it, I think I do remember seeing something strange. But the amulet exploded right afterwards and I was too busy protecting Iroh from those archers to really pay attention.” 

The small stool Sokka was perched on made an ominous creaking sound as he shifted in it slightly. 

“Well, Aang said that he and Zuko traveled to the future, yeah? I know he was pretty light on the details, but after he’s had some rest, we’re going to have to ask him more about what he saw. We need all the information we can get if we’re going to stand a chance against whatever it is that created the Breach.” 

Suki hummed in agreement, still focused on removing her make-up. Sokka watched as she rinsed her rag in a small bowl, dabbed it into a jar, and then brought it to her face again, wiping away her warrior’s mask in small, careful circles. Her movements were methodical and rhythmic, clearly the result of countless evenings of repetition. Sokka was suddenly struck with the sense that he was an interloper, and that by witnessing this quiet ritual he was forcing a level of intimacy between them that he had not earned. His face flushed as he looked away. 

“Well, anyways. I was up closer to the rift and I saw them come back through. Before the rift closed and the amulet exploded, there were _two_ of them--two amulets. One on the ground and one in the Magister’s hand. When he passed out and dropped it, the amulets sort of… combined? I don’t know if I’m explaining this right.”

“No, this could be important,” Suki reassured him. “I was faced away so I didn’t see that, but I do remember there being a distortion in the air for a moment. It was hard to tell with so many mages throwing magic around.” 

“Okay, well. In that moment before the two amulets collided and went ‘boom,’ I could have sworn I saw, like… ghosts.”

Sokka paused, waiting for Suki to mock him. He was always giving Katara grief for her crazy magical theories about spirits and whatnot, so if anyone deserved to be mocked for having seen a ghost, it would be him. But Suki stayed silent. 

“Maybe ghosts isn’t the right word,” he continued. “I’m sure there’s some explanation for it, what with the Magister’s crazy time magic running amok. But for a second there I could have sworn I saw the outlines of… other versions of us. Of you, me, and Katara. We were fighting some huge monster and we were losing. I feel insane saying this out loud, but it was almost like I recognized it. Like I remember that fight.”

Again, Sokka braced himself for ridicule. Instead, he felt the warm, reassuring weight of a hand on his knee. He looked up to see Suki leaning in close to him, bare-faced. After travelling so long with her dressed in full warrior garb, seeing her without makeup was a bit jarring. During the day, accented by dramatic whites and reds, Suki’s beauty was always striking--but here, in the soft, low light of the lamp at their feet, her unadorned face took on a completely different kind of allure. The gentle sloping planes of her face looked warm and inviting and her un-lined eyes, while still bright with wit and intelligence, seemed somehow kinder and more delicate. 

“You’re not insane, Sokka,” she said quietly. “At least, you’re not any more insane than this whole situation is.”

“Yeah, the world’s kinda a mess right now, isn’t it?” _Worth it, though, since I got to meet you._ “And I haven’t even told you the weirdest part.”

One of Suki’s eyebrows raised at that in a silent question. The familiar expression on her somewhat unfamiliar, unmarked face caused a surge of fondness to swell in Sokka’s chest. 

“You see,” he explained, “While it feels a bit like a dream now, in that split second when I saw the ghost versions of us, well… I was dead. Like, I saw myself dead on the floor. And for a second I could have sworn I remembered dying.”

Suki’s hand stayed where it was, resting on Sokka’s knee. 

“That sounds… unpleasant.” 

Sokka exhaled through his nose, lips tightening into a rueful smile. 

“Yeah, you could definitely say that.” There was a short pause where Sokka wanted to place his hand over Suki’s, but in his hesitation, the moment passed. “I’m only saying all this because I know that Katara’s got her heels dug in about Iroh and the Magister. She and I both have a pretty long, gruesome list of past experiences with vints. It’s not my place to tell you things about my sister that she hasn’t volunteered, but let's just say that when she talks about the way Tevinter slavers treat elves, she’s not generalizing. She’s got some first-hand experience.”

Suki moved her hand away from Sokka’s knee and leaned back onto her cot. He missed the touch as soon as it was gone. 

“I see,” she said. “Well, ultimately it’s going to be up to the Herald to decide what to do.”

“True, but I just wanted to warn you. No matter what Zuko has to say for himself, Katara’s going to insist it’s some sort of trap. She might come around eventually, but she’s not going to change her mind overnight.” 

Sokka sighed and stood, doing his best to avoid knocking his head on the tent’s sloped canopy. 

“Thanks for listening. On a more normal day, I’d be just like Katara. But whatever it was that I saw, I don’t think it was a trick.” Sokka took a few steps towards the tent’s entrance, then turned before lifting the flap. “Zuko was messing with some pretty serious magic, sure. But my instincts are telling me that without him, my premonition of dying would be more than just a premonition.” 

“So you’re saying we should trust him?” asked Suki.

“I’m saying we should make sure he gets a chance to share his side, and that we shouldn’t let Katara stop Aang from hearing him out.” 

Suki nodded. 

“Thanks for talking to me,” she said, adding with a smile, “Maybe you should try stopping by my tent again sometime. And perhaps next time, we can find something more fun to do than talking about death portents.”

Sokka let out a genuine laugh at that. “Suki, you’re a genius.” 

She winked back. “I know.” 

If Sokka’s smile was a touch too big and touch too goofy as he let the flap of Suki’s tent fall behind him, nobody was close enough in the dim light to see and judge him for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the crazy combat they've been through, our boys deserved a quieter chapter. 
> 
> This is a Zukka household, but we stan Suki, alright? She and Sokka just have too much chemistry not to form some sort of relationship. I mean, we're still in the enemies portion of the enemies to friends to lovers. This is, after all, a very slow burn. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's made it this far. Also [thanks to my new beta!](/users/slothday/)  
> (and please comment if you're reading it means the world. I could pretend I'm not desperate but)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of game-specific words in this chapter can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706328)

Zuko sat on the edge of his cot in the small tent he and his uncle had been sharing for the past few days, staring at the small box at his feet. It was an unassuming object, constructed of dark, unadorned wood and a set of plain brass hinges. The lid was open, revealing a few corked vials of a deep red liquid sitting upright in a mostly-empty metal rack. 

Zuko sighed. Seven empty spaces in the box--only three vials left. He was going to have to be more strategic with his magic now that he’d be working against Tevinter rather than for it. If he went too far and lost consciousness again, three vials might not be enough to save him. He could try and find another source, but without casting a wide net, the chances he would stumble upon a blood match were low--and the likelihood that, even if he were to find a match, that someone from the Inquisition would be willing to let a vint bleed them? Zuko chuckled bitterly at the thought. He was going to have a hard enough time convincing these people to let him fight for them; asking for aid was completely out of the question. 

The sound of rustling canvas interrupted Zuko’s thoughts. He snapped the box shut with his foot as his uncle appeared in the tent’s entrance, holding open the simple fabric flap. Zuko squinted as a sudden rush of daylight filled the tent. 

“Ah, Zuko, it is so good to see you awake!” Iroh’s smile was as bright and cheerful as the mid-morning sun that flooded in behind him. “How are you feeling?” 

Zuko began to scowl at his uncle’s cheerfulness, a response ingrained in him from years of brushing off Iroh’s mother henning. And yet, with the nightmare of his uncle’s broken, lyrium-infested body still fresh in his mind, annoyance quickly gave way to sheer gratefulness for the normality of the interaction. Zuko’s scowl softened immediately. After being forced to reckon the reality of a world without his uncle, he was determined to make sure Iroh had the chance to be irritatingly upbeat for many, many more mornings to come. 

“Honestly? I’ve been better,” he replied, managing a tired smile. “But overall I’m starting to feel like myself again. As long as I don’t have to be in any more fights for the next few days, I think I’ll be pretty much recovered.”

If Iroh was suspicious of Zuko’s easy smile and candid answers, he didn’t let it show. 

“Good, good. Then perhaps you should get dressed.” Iroh remained standing in the tent’s entryway as he spoke and, now that Zuko’s eyes had adjusted, he could see that his uncle was flanked on each side by an armored guard. “The mages who remained at Redcliffe have sent a delegation to speak to the Herald. Meanwhile, Kirima has refused to leave the camp without resolving the state of her agreement with you. I have been successful in holding her off thus far, but she is quite a determined woman.”

Zuko grimaced. It seemed there would be no time to ease his way back into the world of the conscious. 

“Yes, I suppose this must all be quite confusing for her…” Zuko let his voice trail off, glancing down at the angry, bruised puncture wounds on the inside of his right forearm. “I saw that you had my things brought from the Gull and Lantern. Or, at least, someone did. If you can hold her off for just a few moments longer I should be able to get myself presentable enough for a meeting.”

“I know it is difficult for you,” Iroh replied, “but please, if only for my sake, do not push yourself too hard too early.”

His uncle took a couple steps forward, the tent flap falling behind him. He looked like he was about to reach for Zuko, but then he hesitated, turning instead to grab a small bowl off a low folding table. 

“It is cold now, but you should try and eat some stew,” he said, offering Zuko the bowl. “I was so worried about you, nephew. I can sense you have been through quite an ordeal. I don’t want to press, but when you are ready to talk, know that I am here for you.”

Zuko took the bowl. He was so incredibly grateful for his uncle’s kindness, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully accept it quite yet. It hurt, knowing just how much his uncle was truly willing to sacrifice for him. He stared down at the bowl of room-temperature stew and desperately tried to push away the memories of the future he had seen and the immense guilt and fear that those memories brought with them. What had he ever done to deserve Iroh’s unwavering generosity? With all the feelings tumbling around in his head, confused, even this bowl of day-old stew felt like too great a gift to accept. 

“Thank you,” he managed at last, though it came out sounding stilted and formal.

Iroh patted him reassuringly on the shoulder in reply. 

“I will let Kirima know you will speak with her soon,” he said, turning to exit the tent. “Eat the food and try to take things slowly.” 

“Yes, uncle.” 

As Iroh left, the tent flap fell closed behind him and Zuko was once again alone.

***

It was midday and the Inquisition camp was a flurry of activity. Soldiers and scouts wandered about, boxes of supplies in tow, as a handful of representatives from the different groups still active in Redcliffe gathered near the central set of tents. What Zuko had pictured as a series of informal, one-on-one conversations had apparently morphed into something much bigger and more official. Kirima was standing on the far side of the burnt-out fire pit, surrounded by a small handful of mages in the long, formal-style robes typical of the southern Circles. To the right, a small group of soldiers and what looked to be a young scribe, were also waiting to speak with the Herald. Zuko recognized the crest on the banner they carried--these were the Arl’s men, doubtless here to inquire after the fate of Redcliffe castle. 

And then, of course, there was Zuko and his uncle. They stood out among the gathered southerners, their clothing clearly marking them as foreign. A third Inquisition guard had been added to their usual pair, and though they were not bound, it was clear they were at the mercy of the Inquisition.

Aang himself had not yet appeared, and the gathered company was growing impatient. Suki, Katara, and Sokka were standing to Zuko’s left, speaking among themselves in low tones. Zuko could feel the weight of Katara’s glare on him, even from the corner of his eye. He resisted the urge to tug restlessly at the tight-fitted sleeves of his tunic. He felt oddly naked without his sanguitor and Venatori robes, but his guards had insisted he attend this meeting unarmed and as he was no longer aligned with his father, his Venatori garb had been left abandoned at the castle. He hadn’t been able, however, to bring himself to discard his family’s signet ring--though at this point, neither did he feel comfortable wearing it. For now, he had it hidden on a chain he wore under his clothes. He absently rubbed at the back of his neck, the texture of the chain on his fingers a silent reminder of his growing list of conflicting feelings toward his family’s name. 

Finally, the Herald emerged from his tent. The ambient chatter died down as he strode forward, looking as young and out-of-place as ever with his simple, loose-fitting tunic and dramatic Dalish tattoos. 

“Welcome, everyone. Thank you for your patience,” Aang’s voice rose, clear in the sudden hush. “I believe we are all here for the same reason--to find a peaceable solution for the mage refugees at Redcliffe.” 

There was a smattering of whispers in response to this statement, and Kirima stepped forward.

“First we must know what has come of our agreement with Tevinter,” she demanded, looking pointedly at Zuko.

Aang gestured for Zuko to answer, so he too stepped in towards the Herald. 

“As far as it is in my power to do so, I relinquish all claims on the Southern Mages,” he announced in the most regal voice he could muster. “I declare their indenture to the Imperium nullified.”

There were more than mere whispers in response to that. Several of the mages behind Kirima turned to speak to one another, gesturing wildly. 

“I confess that the agreement was made under false pretenses,” Zuko continued, pushing through the rising commotion. “And as I am no longer in command of the Venatori that had been stationed at Redcliffe castle, I do not have the authority to bargain further, even if I wished to do so.” 

Zuko stepped back after saying this, returning to his uncle and the Inquisition guards. 

The Arl’s man was the next step forward. The discussion amongst the mages was growing louder, so he almost had to shout to make himself heard. 

“I am here on behalf of the Arl of Redcliffe as well as King Kuei of Ferelden.” The noise quieted somewhat as he spoke, but remained at a low hum. “At the request of the Arl, King Kuei has dispatched troops to retake Redcliffe castle. Though Ferelden has no quarrel with the Free Mages, given their involvement with Tevinter insurgents, we regret that we can no longer offer them safe haven at Redcliffe.” 

This statement brought the biggest reaction yet, several of the mages breaking into angry shouts. Kirima attempted to calm her companions, hissing out a few orders for silence before turning to address the Herald. 

“What of the Inquisition, then?” she asked. “Does your offer of protection still stand?”

Before Aang could answer, a young man with a mustache and goatee pushed forward from within the small crowd of simmering mages. 

“No, Grand Enchantress!” he protested, forcing himself into the inner circle of speakers. “I will not see you lead us blindly into another life of bound servitude.” 

“Quiet, Haru,” Kirima commanded, shooting out a hand to halt his forward motion. 

He batted it aside. 

“No! Who’s to say this Inquisition isn’t just another Circle in disguise? We fought too hard to be free of the Chantry’s control for you to so willingly pull us under it once again.” Behind him, there were a handful of enthusiastic agreements. “We are the Free Mages, and we will not be prisoners again!”

At this, the entire camp broke into an uproar. Many of the mages cheered, Kirima tried desperately to drag Haru away from the center of the group, and several of the Arl’s soldiers put their hands on their weapons. Zuko felt the Inquisition guard nearest to him tense as all three reached for their weapons as well. 

Suddenly, there was a burst of green light and a loud snapping sound, like a small thunderclap. 

The crowd went silent, and all eyes turned to where the Herald of Andraste was standing. His left fist was raised skyward, a green glow dying down from where his mark had emitted the abrupt flash. 

“Enough!” he shouted. “I’m not here on behalf of the Chantry. My name is Aang. I was the First of clan Taras’vhen, and now I am the last. I am here today as part of the Inquisition, to find allies in our mission to seal the Breach. I don’t want castles, I don’t want land, and I have no use for prisoners--mage or otherwise.”

Aang paused for a moment, surveying the group around him. Everyone remained silent, some clearly awed, others merely startled. 

“You, what is your name?” asked Aang, turning to face the Arl’s representative.

The man seemed surprised at the question.

“Seneschal Bosco, ser,” he stammered out. 

“Seneschal Bosco, as it currently stands, the Venatori forces at Redcliffe castle have been scattered. However, the Inquisition has received intelligence that there are more forces from Tevinter currently inbound to Redcliffe.” Aang gestured towards Suki who approached the Seneschal with a small packet of folded parchment. “They are being led by a very dangerous mage named Azula. Based on what we know, they were originally sent here to rendezvous with the mages and secure Venatori control over the castle. All of the details we have are in those papers. The Inquisition hopes to treat King Kuei as an ally, and if we can be of help in returning the castle to the Arl, we are happy to assist.” 

The Herald then turned to Kirima and the mages, leaving the Seneschal to open and glance through the documents he had been handed.

“As for you, Kirima and… Haru, was it?”

The young, outspoken man nodded. 

“As I said, I have no plans to subdue or imprison you,” insisted Aang. “I’m here because I need help closing the Breach. I don’t want servants or underlings, I need _full partners_. The Inquisition needs you just as much as you need us. Anything less than a partnership would be a disservice to us both.”

Once again, Suki approached the group with a handful of documents, which Kirima readily accepted. Haru, however, still looked wary. 

“Do I have your word, Herald--” Haru began. 

“My name is Aang,” the young elf interjected, soft but insistent.

“Well, then, Aang,” replied Haru. “Do I have your word, not as the Herald of Andraste, but as the First of your clan and as a mage in your own right, that the Inquisition will not attempt to place us back under Templar control?” 

“Yes,” he said, offering his hand. “Yes, you have my word. Ar halanan ameli mala revas.1” 

Haru’s features softened slightly, but he moved hesitantly when he reached for Aang’s hand. 

“Very well. We will join you, Aang of clan Taras’vhen, in your mission to close the Breach.” 

There was a scattered bit of applause from the mages as Aang and Haru shook hands. 

“We will begin our return journey to Haven tomorrow,” said Aang, stepping back to address both Kirima and Haru at once. “Gather your people. I can send a handful of scouts to help you pack if need be.” 

After this, the meeting began to break up. Aang gave Seneschal Bosco a formal farewell while Katara and Suki spoke with Haru. 

Zuko was beginning to think that he and Iroh had somehow been forgotten. He would have returned to their tent, except that the three guards surrounding them hadn’t moved to break formation. 

Eventually, the mages and soldiers dispersed, leaving Zuko and Iroh alone with the Herald and his team of three companions. It was well into the afternoon now and Zuko felt a bit weak from having stood so long in the full heat of the sun. 

The Herald approached, looking almost as tired as Zuko felt, and sat down on one of the larger rocks surrounding the fire pit, facing him and his uncle with a sigh. His three companions remained standing, grouped to his left. 

“So, Magister Zuko,” Aang began, looking up at him from his low perch. “What are your plans?”

Zuko was a bit surprised at the open nature of the question. He had been expecting a verdict of some kind, not, well… whatever this was. 

“I think that mostly depends on you,” he replied. “You saw what my father has planned for this world, so I think you know why I need to stop him. This isn’t about restoring the Imperium. I’m starting to think it never was. If my father and the Elder One achieve their goals, everyone--Tevinter included--will pay the price. I can’t let that happen.”

Zuko paused for a moment, but Aang didn’t say anything in reply, so he pressed on. 

“You saw with your own eyes what that future would cost me--me, personally. So you know what’s at stake. I don’t expect you to accept me as a friend, but you must at least give me the chance to fight at your side. The Inquisition is our best hope of stopping the Venatori before it’s too late. Please, Herald, all I ask is the chance to help stop my father. That future we saw? I would do _anything_ to make sure it never comes true.” 

“That’s not good enough,” the female elf with long, dark hair stepped forward towards Aang. “He’s a Magister. He tried to kill you! Nobody has that big of a change of heart overnight.”

Zuko’s head was beginning to hurt. Looking at Katara, he knew what timeline he was in and that in this reality she had every reason to distrust him, but all he could see was a chunk of red lyrium growing from her collarbone. He could almost hear the screams of the many-armed, distorted monster with his sister’s face, taste the blood and burning flesh in the air, feel the agony of his uncle’s struggle to breath with rapidly crystallizing lungs--

“You weren’t there!” he shouted out suddenly, too overwhelmed to maintain a diplomatic tone. “My father is planning on using the power of the Elder One to tear this world apart! The Breach was only the beginning. The things I’ve seen… I had no idea that kind of destruction was even possible. The Venatori say they want to restore the Imperium, but the path they’re following leads only to death and destruction. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Katara spat back, “I wasn’t there. So this apocalypse you’re talking about? The only thing I’ve got right now to prove any of it is real is your word. And as far as I’m concerned, your words are worth less than the horseshit they’re made of.” 

Sokka walked up behind Katara and reached out to hold her back--she had been stomping angrily closer to Zuko with each word--and she halted just shy of shoving an accusatory finger into Zuko’s chest. 

“Aang saw it, too,” Sokka reminded her softly. “And it certainly seemed very real to him. He came back with battle wounds and everything.” 

“It could still have been a trick. This whole ‘transformation’ is just too much too quickly and I don’t buy it.” 

Zuko turned from the two arguing in front of him to address Suki. The other version of her he had met in the castle dungeons had understood the practicality of accepting him--perhaps she would see the same usefulness in him now. 

“I have information on the Venatori,” he offered. “It’s limited, but I know the basics of what resources they have access to, the rhetoric they’re spreading, and what at least some of their current plans are. I grew up with these people and I know how they think. I can show you how they fight and help you find their weaknesses. I have things to offer besides just my magic and my blades. I can find ways to be of help if you just let me try.”

He could feel himself rambling. The sun was too bright and hurt his eyes. The present and the future were all confused in his mind, the arguing voices around him layering over top of one another as if distorted with red lyrium poisoning. He could go back and try and fight his father alone, but without help such an effort would be futile. This was his best chance to stop the Elder One, to change the flow of time, to save Iroh…

“...could be useful,” Suki was saying to Aang as Zuko’s attention returned to the present. “Most of our forces are unfamiliar with Tevinter mages, and we hadn’t even heard of the Venatori before we got here.” 

“And if the information he gives us is faulty, what then?” Katara shot back. “We’d be wasting our resources chasing spirits. Sokka and I know how vints fight. We don’t need him.”

If Zuko couldn’t be useful to the Inquisition as a fighter or an informant, maybe he could be useful as a bargaining chip. Again, he toyed with the idea of simply setting off alone; but on top of it being a waste, his uncle would almost definitely put himself in danger trying to follow. Zuko tried desperately to ignore the images that flashed into his mind as he thought of his uncle, the one death he had seen mingling with dozens of others he could easily imagine. His ears began to ring as the ache in his head strengthened. 

“Suki’s right, though. All this Venatori stuff is new to us,” said Sokka. “In the right hands, even faulty information can serve a purpose.”

“He’s a blood mage, Sokka. I can’t believe you’re open to working with him.” Katara huffed. “You know how dangerous blood magic is! How can any of you even be considering this?”

“Fine then,” Zuko interjected. 

He couldn’t take this bickering any longer. The sun pelted down on his back and he could feel the sweat soaking into his long-sleeved tunic as his heartbeat began to quicken. One way or another, this needed to be over soon. 

“I can’t go back to my father--I won’t go back.” Zuko moved forward and knelt so that he was eye level with the seated Herald. He presented his unbound hands, head bowed. “If you can’t have me as a comrade, then take me as a prisoner.” 

Aang had been oddly silent as his companions argued, listening passively from his seat on the smoke-stained rock. But as he looked at Zuko’s offered hands, he appeared to come to a decision. He sighed and used his staff to pull himself slowly back up to his feet, eyes on Zuko’s kneeling figure all the while.

“Weren’t you listening, Zuko?” he asked. “I thought I made it clear I’m not looking for prisoners.”

Despite himself, Zuko felt his shoulders slump in defeat. The ringing in his ears hit a crescendo as his arms fell, leaving him fully crouched on the ground. 

Then suddenly he felt the light touch of a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Aang looking back at him, his face neutral in a way that gave his elven features an strange air of timelessness. 

“I don’t want prisoners,” the Herald repeated. “I want allies.” 

He offered Zuko his hand, which Zuko took. The elf helped him to his feet. 

“So, Magister--”

“Zuko. Just Zuko. I’m not a Magister anymore.” 

“Zuko, then. Are you with me?”

Zuko gave the Herald’s hand a firm shake. 

“Yes,” he vowed. “In whatever way you see best.” 

Aang nodded. “Good. Your uncle is welcome at Haven as well, of course. We leave tomorrow.” 

And just like that, everything Zuko had ever been and everything he thought he’d ever become changed irrevocably. His head was still spinning and the ringing in his ears hadn’t abated, but for the first time since he’d awoken, disoriented, in the dungeon of Redcliffe castle, Zuko felt a small spark of hope. 

***

Sokka sat at one of the tables near the bar at the Singing Maiden, Haven’s finest (and only) tavern. It was late evening and the sun had set over an hour ago, making the bustling warmth of the small tavern even more attractive than usual. He, Aang, and a handful of other key personnel had all arrived late the night before, travelling a few days ahead of the caravan of mages and other refugees from Redcliffe in order to prepare Haven for their arrival. The small mountain village was already crowded, but Sokka wasn’t too worried. They had enough supplies and willing workers to throw together temporary housing for the mages. 

Honestly, the biggest worry right now was whether or not the help of the mages would be enough to close the Breach. Sokka had been spoiled in the Hinterlands, watching Aang close rift after rift while they traveled further away from the central, still-gaping hole. Coming back to Haven and seeing the Breach there, a jagged, unending storm of sickly unnatural energy, constantly crackling and spitting out demons--at first, it had been a bit of a shock. Even now, he knew that once he left the tavern, the moonlight would be tinged green from the glow of that horrific scar in the sky. 

But potentially world-ending magical phenomena aside, overall he was grateful to be back in Haven, reunited with his tribe. They called themselves Aban-ataashi, a Qunlat word that, when literally translated, meant Sea Dragons. He had grown up with many of the mercenaries now in his troupe, others the tribe had adopted along the way. He had inherited the title of chief when his father retired a few years ago, but he still didn’t feel like the leader. In fact, he knew the team could function well enough without him--but regardless, it felt good to be back with them after his time away. His tribe was the closest thing he had to a home, no matter where they happened to be. So sharing an ale with Pipsqueak and the Duke here in a tiny tavern out in the middle of the Frostback mountains made it feel a little less like the sky outside was falling--even if that wasn’t true. 

“Hey chief, you want another?” the Duke asked, breaking Sokka from his reverie. 

“Nah, I’m good,” he replied. “Still got half a pint left. Though if they’ve got any more of those spicy fried meatball things, send ‘em my way.” 

“You got it!” 

The Duke, a surface dwarf and the tribe’s resident explosives technician, was on bar duty tonight. Seated next to Sokka and Pipsqueak (who, despite the amusing moniker, was a muscular, wide-horned qunari who made even Sokka look small), the Duke was really the only one capable of getting back and forth across the small tavern without knocking over any furniture. 

“So chief,” said Pipsqueak, his deep voice rumbling loudly even as he tried to lean in and whisper. “What’s the deal with the vint?” 

Sokka had seen Zuko walk into the tavern over an hour ago. He was sitting in a far corner booth alone, back against the wall, and had been sipping from the same small glass of amber liquid since he arrived. The rest of the tavern’s patrons gave him a wide berth, and Zuko didn’t seem to mind it. 

“I don’t actually know,” Sokka said with a shrug. “I mean, he sure dresses like a stuck-up arsehole. But he says he’s here to help and he has technically saved the Herald’s life at least once already so I guess… the more the merrier?”

Pipsqueak snorted dismissively at that. “Well, I’d keep a close eye on him, regardless.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else here. I mean, look at them all,” Sokka gestured to the tavern’s patrons, many of whom were standing at the bar or near a table rather than take one of the open seats next to the Magister. “It’s like they’re worried that if they get too close he’ll set them on fire.” 

“I’d like to see him try,” growled Pipsqueak. 

Sokka rolled his eyes as the Duke arrived back at their table, two full mugs in tow.

“No luck on the meatballs, chief,” he said apologetically. “Jin says you’re eating them out of house and home.”

Sokka brought a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Out of house and home? I’m worth good coin, I tell you! I’m keeping this business afloat.”

“Sure you are, chief,” the Duke drawled in reply. 

Sokka was about to wag his finger and remind the Duke exactly where _his_ salary came from when Aang burst into the tavern. 

“Hey there, Herald. Back for another round?” Jin, the woman who owned and ran the Singing Maiden, called sweetly from behind the bar. 

“No, actually, I’m looking for--” Aang’s eyes scanned the small crowd before coming to rest. “Sokka!”

Aang darted between tables towards him, calling his name all the while. 

“Sokka, Sokka, Sokka!” Aang was now right next to him, tugging on his arm. “You have to come with us! Suki has the _best_ plan and just--I’ll explain on the way. Come on!”

Sokka allowed himself to be pulled up from his seat and away from his table by the small elf, equal parts puzzled and amused. He gave a small salute of farewell to the Duke and Pipsqueak, trying his best not to knock anything or anyone over as Aang dragged him out of the tavern. 

“Aang, what is this about--”

“Ssshhh!!” Aang cut him off with a shushing sound that quickly turned into a half-stifled giggle. “It’s a surprise! You’re going to love this. Come see. Come see.” 

Sokka looked down at Aang, who was still pulling on his arm, as the two hurried towards the Herald’s small cabin. Aang’s cheeks were flushed and his movements were exaggerated. Jin had asked if the Herald was there for another round… no, he couldn’t be. 

Was Aang _drunk_? 

“Seriously, Aang, what’s going on?” Sokka tried to ask as Aang all but shoved him through the cabin door. 

“Trust me, Sokka, you’ll love this. You see, Suki and I have this plan and…” Aang dissolved once again into giggles and Sokka let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Suki! Suki! I got him!” Aang said excitedly, rushing past her to crouch next to some sort of box in the far corner of the single-room building. 

“Yeah, he got me,” said Sokka, relieved to see Suki, clear-eyed and dressed in plain clothes, was waiting for them. “What’s going on?”

“Well, you see. You missed quite the little Advisor meeting this afternoon while you were off gallivanting with your merry band of mercs.”

“We may occasionally strut, and we sometimes traipse, but I can assure you that the Aban-ataashi do _not_ gallivant.” 

Suki rolled her eyes. “The point is that you missed a very heated argument between Chancellor Pakku and our dear Herald in which the distinguished Chancellor outright called Aang a heathen. He then accused Katara of being a bloodmage because--and I’m quoting here-- ‘we all know apostates inevitably succumb to dark magic, especially those of the weaker races.’”

Sokka let out a low whistle. “Oh boy. I’m surprised Katara didn’t take his head off right then and there.” 

“Honestly, it’s a testament to your sister’s strength of character that she didn’t. General Jeong Jeong shut Pakku down pretty immediately after that, but still. Completely uncalled-for.” 

“Yeah,” shouted Aang from whatever he was busy doing in the far corner of the room. “Pakku’s being an absolute dick,” there was a slight pause for a few more giggles. “He’s mad because I promised the mages we’d treat them like real people.”

Aang grumbled out a few lines of what Sokka assumed were Dalish curses. 

“Level with me, Suki. Did you let the kid drink?” Sokka asked in a harsh whisper. 

“First of all, he’s nineteen,” Suki whispered back, “Second of all--”

“You did!” Sokka cut her off. “You got him drunk! And you call yourself a Chantry Sister.”

“ _Second of all_ it was one mug of ale and he didn’t even finish it. Also, for the last time, I’m not a Sister.” 

“Suki! Suki!” called Aang, returning from the corner of the room with a bundled sack in his hands. “Tell him! Tell him what we’re going to do.” 

Suki’s face broke into a smile as wide as Aang’s and she gestured for the group to huddle in close. 

“We’re going to set a nug loose in his chambers,” she announced. 

This sent Aang off on another round of giggles, during which time Sokka noticed that the bundle he was holding close to his chest was moving. Aang’s laughter was echoed by the distinct, though muffled, high-pitched snorts and squeals of a nug. 

“Sweet Maker, you’ve already got a nug.”

“He’s not just _a_ nug, Sokka,” Aang said with a pout. “His name is MoMo and he’s _my_ nug.” 

“So you’re going to sneak into the chantry without getting noticed and break into the Chancellor’s room--all while carrying a nug-- _how_ , exactly?”

Aang looked up at him and winked in a slow, exaggerated motion, as if the action was taking special concentration to perform. 

“I’m sneaky,” he whispered. 

It was the most ridiculous plan Sokka had ever heard. He looked to Suki for reassurance, but found none. She too was grinning wildly, clearly long since sold on Aang’s harebrained scheme. 

“So,” asked Suki. “You’re the master tactician. Are you going to help us or not?”

Again, Sokka surveyed his companions, conflicted. Suki’s eyes were sparkling with mischief in a way that he found both exciting and worrisome. And Aang… well, the kid was clearly buzzed. His face was flushed, pink visible the whole way back his shaved head. Even the tips of his ears were slightly red. But he was also smiling--genuinely smiling--in such a carefree way that for a moment Sokka could see clearly who Aang must have been before the Conclave exploded and the fate of the world was placed on his shoulders. Whatever might come of this plan, if it would keep this version of Aang around for a few more moments, then Sokka had to admit it would be worth it. 

Sokka sighed inwardly. He was probably going to regret this. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’m in. But If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right. We need a battle plan.” 

Aang lifted both his arms and gave a hooting cheer, letting the bag he was holding fall open in the process. A squealing nug burst from the bag and began running frantically around the room. 

Yeah, Sokka was _definitely_ going to regret this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. _I will help you to find your freedom_ Back
> 
> \------
> 
> Posting a day late, but it was a longer chapter so I hope the wait was worth it. I will forever love buzzed Aang. Tune in next week for more Haven shenanigans!
> 
> As always, comments are life. Thanks for reading!


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